Field notes, art, food, marginalia.
God, this record was my jam when I was about 14-15. It’s still on my iPod, and there’s times when I’m a little embarrassed by how juvenile the lyrics strike me anymore, but shit. That drone. Chris Vrenna. Trent Reznor’s oxblood leather pants.
It was a moment for me.
What should I be doing?
I Fucking Hate Clubs
all the gpoy in the world.
Real women look like whatever the fuck they look like. Now quit.
However I don’t know who and I don’t want to go to Burning Man.
The most likely co-conspirator disavows any knowledge… Let’s hope come Summer no one tries to hold me to that promise.
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My mom:
You should wash your car. It has dirt and shit all over it.
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[my mother actually speaks like this. I knew I got my sailor vocabulary from someone.]
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Me:
It's still snowy! We'll wash it in March.
During the early middle ages, many village churches had attached rooms with no windows or doors where a supplicant hermit would live out their lives in solitary contemplation, supported only by the meager alms of the congregation.
I have days when I’m legitimately sad this is no longer an available career path.
