first book of 2018 is henry miller’s ‘tropic of cancer.’ probably i will want to discuss this with you when we next speak. also, probably i won’t because i’m sure to say something offensive, then over-apologizing, then making it worse by trying to clarify, then apologizing some more, and then, to your relief, turning and walking away. i read a quote that said, it isn’t long before identity is reduced to loyalty, and i feel like most conversations these days contain within them a test of loyalty. i always fail those sorts of tests.

chair pose is rough. growing up, we thought yoga was satanic, so we gave it wide berth. too much stretching and breathing for our liking. and the mantras. heavens. the highest good in me honors the highest good in you—tattoo a pentagram on my forehead, why don’t you? but consensus seems to have emerged that yoga isn’t so much satanic as it is associated with positive health outcomes. so, here i am—day three of thirty. jess does not mess around. all of my muscles are shaking and i’m like, ‘jess, quick, help me. i can’t take any more chair pose.‘ and jess is like, ‘i’m in a video. i can’t hear you.

last thing, i hereby launch streetfinder™. finding things is one of my main programs. the only criteria is that the thing has to be lost. i don’t want it if its owner (or, say, the police) doesn’t also want it. some thrilling moral and existential territory. i’ve amassed a ton of etcetera. figuring out the presentation will be a process, so bear with me.


how will this person ever get their bottle of beer open now!?



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