State

I have much work to do and yet there is a soul aspect in me that is so exhausted.

Shoeshine

After Cool Hand on the plane, De Sica film about money, broke me, albeit briefly, cracked heart open in this city (country?) of same and worse.

Once I find my formula

such recipes will have you choking on the asbestos of your own drywall drillslinger HomeEc ambitions til brittle powder and wrinkly duck tape become…the work. Sigh.

Skeet shooting

Suddenly a name. There is always a funny sort of mechanics at work. An accrual of value, boulder and moss. Stay out of it for the longest time, said someone to Jenny Saville, she says in a video I saw somewhere. That we have become subjects of the some, that plurality has skeeted (yes, deliberate shots at) specificity is probably the worst part. To lend aimless expense aim, I am striving to remember. And eventually, to be caught in slow motion. The sieve of, who rescues who, in the first place.

edge of

Not to belittle befores, or middles, or afters. But. Isn’t it funny how people at the edges of awakening—still shaded by dull grays, sharpening insight to the brightest finish available before totality takes over—term work that peels off from the wide spectrum on the other end ‘psychedelic’? In one sense, very accurate; and as reference, totally beside the point. 

Jette

The confusion of one place for another. Or rather a conflation with. I’ll be walking down one street and where I turn I’m at an intersection with friends in —. I’m by — all the time, I even saw the exact corner angle in an Instagram Story just yesterday. Another turn and I’m back in —, zipping through —, arranging flowers for...The last time I dissociated this hard it was out of grave necessity. Maybe it is now, too. The backdrops to these discursions are international, knowingly self-exoticizing—ostentatious even—but as template, a promontory lap, making a dentist mold of memory’s grooves, one of the most modern (modernist) experiences you can have.