An everyday thought

 Now, voyager

Liliana

Years of avoidance later, watching The Night Porter (1974) to fix a chakra (which?)

Strangenesses

Someone reminded me the other day of the cheery, hopeful headspace in which I arrived and the fact of having taken, over these last years, as we all do, as one might naturally expect to happen, rite of passage, the only possible nurture mode of mid20s blah, a critical browbeating. Across a few axes, so spreads the gray ambience. A chosen browbeating—of insulation, too, at that—I say back, knowing it would be gray and what the grayness does, though its precise lessons who can really account for, now that they are vacuum packed from the pile-up. Feeling a stranger to that more buoyant version of "before," without straining to remember, nor to re-feel her valleys, here we are inside-out again, and of course, isn't it the same for everyone, everywhere? Participating—maybe complaining—and still keeping on. Only that to smile by the exceptional, favorite way of summoning street magic, one must insist on particulars.

One thing

The Zoomer proclivity to always check the clock at 9:11.

How to Make It in America

 The quietly spectacular. 

140 x 200 cm

Painting titles not ratchet enough to justify their benighted abstractions would be the worst (and anticipated) reading. Koln v. Immersive Van Gogh 30 years' war hum dee dum. Good morning pelicans, good morning Julia, Salut Denzel. How about 140 x 200 cm, Hello this is Carlton your doorman. 

Boots in mud

I am moving through old muck and I can’t pretend to like it. But I should—because the ‘I’ is not important, the universal is important, an obligating body, and so, one has to. Forget the one for the One. Suck it up and grin. I’m embarrassed of so many things right now, at being placed in comparison to, and not in a flattering way, the last two years of hiding out coming to a close with no real crescendo, at least that part is good, for learning what I have or have not learned. To never run away again? So many dismissals and diminishments. Nauseated by the prospect that anything was to have happened after all, the final few layers coming off, these feel the worst.