if you need supervision you're a child. but if you have super vision you're a god. language huh.
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espresso pods offend my lusitianian sensibilities in terms of taste, and my kaczynskian sensibilities in terms of waste
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smoke goes in, books come out. simple really.
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all in for the odd one out.
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when you light a cigarette with another cigarette, that's tradition.
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it seems incoherent that people who make (and strive to make) heavenly things could ever go to hell. they just wouldn't fit in.
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this here is a dirty aphorism. it's good to leave something to the imagination.
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meaning is hidden in plain sight, revealed in complex hearing.
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my dad was a painter and when i was a wee lad he encouraged me to draw and paint anywhere and everywhere, and he did it with me. drove my mother up the wall. said wall was most likely full of our drawings, thus a bad choice of metaphor.
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with milder summers i would write twice as many books.
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this little thing got in the house. hard to catch. named her your tinyness. zippo for size comp. in my native language they are female. wife and i have had a special name for them for years (also female) and we’ve used it so often we kind of forget what they are supposed to be called. Adam and Eve stuff.
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as the dumb machines take over the culture, memes start to disappear from it. the meme era is over.
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revel without a cause.
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a person missing a tooth seeks an artificial one. now, a person missing intelligence...
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i've had projects online since i was thirteen. i built them up, explored what i could, and then i'd change, or lose interest, and abandoned them to start from scratch something else, somewhere else. i still have that urge sometimes, and count it as a sign of maturity that i haven't yet. having said that, it bothers me that if you read my blog, the most popular stuff is what i left behind and have no interest in anymore. i think that i should have had my clean break in twenty twenty four, and it's too late now.
most of all it bothers me that it will be impossible to find the right readership for what i'm doing now without making that fresh break, getting rid of all that baggage. the fact is you can't be disparate things, not even in sequence. there are hard boundaries around them. and there is something really amazing about shedding the old skin and starting fresh. but i'm probably too old for it now.
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strange how things change. you seek and find likeminded people and then one day it's clear your minds are no longer alike. i don't feel like a different person. but i guess i must be, in some ways that are not insignificant.
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all of a sudden in the chapter i’m writing Alice Finisterre starts talking about casuarinas and how she could never be a biologist because their taxonomies don't make any poetic sense. this kind of thing always baffles me. the text takes left turns of its own. i didn’t plan it. anyway, she does have a point. according to biologists casuarinas have no relation to pine trees at all even though they look very much like them, from the needles to the little cones. that's just weird. anyway, i wrote it and it turns out to link quite nicely with something earlier in the chapter that i thought was random, and beyond that it wraps a few things together as well. i guess you can look at it in all sorts of ways, but i prefer the magical explanation.
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i always thought Mozart was massively overrated, and for that (and other reasons) i never thought communism was even theoretically desirable. we don’t need more than one Mozart.
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there is nothing i enjoy more than enjoying things. more.
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having a sex drive is cool because you don't need a driver's license.
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i realized early on that it was good to realize things early on.
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my favorite color is Bill Evans.
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anyone can feel God if they want to, that's the privilege of the age. what the theologians need to argue now is the existence of God in church. good luck.
it seems to me God rarely goes to church now, unless we define church as wherever God is in that case, he's always there. in the zone. but that’s just etymologically untenable.
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Steely Dan wrote some of the best, most moving fiction of the twentieth century.
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writing a jazz coming of age stoner family class drama romance of manners apparently. i remember Marilyn Manson saying he studied all the trends to put together popular elements he thought would make for a hit brand. in my case it’s the exact opposite. it was by accident that i ended up with a collection of all the least popular stuff. i suppose coming of age and romance are popular, technically, but not if they are set in the real world. it has to be in some magical world where things don’t really matter.
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i am a smoke evangelist. not tobacco, or nicotine. and it has to be smoking itself, because vaping and all such things are extremely gay (and bad for you), and putting snuff up your nose is just disgusting. the smoke is fundamental. smoke. smoke. smoke.
smoking is a constant reminder that the sabbath was made for man, not man for the sabbath. life is meant to be consumed, spent. a burnt offering of which you take a little bit within, while the rest rises upward towards the heavens.
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it's true that too much editing can kill the magic in your prose, but it can add to the magic too, if you approach it with the same feeling and intensity of improvisation as the first draft. studio jazz is still jazz if you bring your jazz to the studio.
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yesterday was the most frustrating writing session in quite a while. hammering every word. today was the most productive. effortless eloquence. who can understand these things. ebb and flow, off and on, yin and yang. in all things. always. forever.
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i think manosphere tips are stupid and unethical to use on women, but they are perfect for job recruiters.
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musical portion today is Bill Evans’ unsurpassed impressionistic rendition of Duke Ellington’s piece, Reflections in D. i can’t stop listening to it, it’s so beautiful.
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a little excerpt from ‘powerless’ about tattoos:
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thank you for reading.
Absolutely love the Bill Evans, TYSM. Ah.