speaking of the lure, what a (insert literally any adjective here) movie.

meantime, streetfinding continues. instagram is up and running with posts (going forward) looking something like this:


with a goal of finding one thing of value every day, the resulting neurosis is not small. this was last night, daylight waning, blocks from home—buzzer beater, as it were.



when you are moderately interested in the goggles frozen into the beach and you spend a long time trying to get them out and then you see eight inches of undecayed rodent tail inches away.


i once found eighty dollars. i was ordering coffee and there it was at my feet, four twenties neatly folded. no one seemed to be looking for it so i gave it to the barista and felt smug AF for doing such a good deed. i left with my head high and my lungs full of what jess calls ‘life force.’ after all, what a substantial deposit i had made in the karma bank. even the barista gave a look of admiration. had that one wildest dream come true later in the day, i would have explained how these things are connected, how the pure in heart are blessed. what happened instead, maybe twenty minutes later as i was looking for my metro card, was that i discovered eighty dollars was missing from my pocket.

one of my very favorite streetfinds ever.


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!?



i think the less said about My Struggle the better. it’s the problem of not drawing attention to things that don’t merit attention. like certain presidential candidates. the impulse, of course, is to scream and shout that attention must not be paid to this undeserving thing or to that undeserving person. but the result is what? the good we want is undermined by our desperation to prevent the bad.

someone should develop a way to credit those who wield their power through silence and anonymity, those who know that saying nothing is the way to best narcissism. there should be a way to recognize these people, to spotlight their positions, to hold them up as examples. of course in this impulse we land again at the beginning of the paradox.

but i’m now reading The Jungle by Upton Sinclair. one chapter in and already i know this is going to be involved. some three things. first, i’m terribly prone to obsessions. some small, some super not small. i’m that person who is always finding the truth—in this book, in that painting, in the other conversation. what do you think happened after i met a fruititarian? acute stomach pain is what happened. or when i heard about barefoot running? i was obliged to run really a lot of miles. it’s dilettantism through and through, but what can you do? not upend your entire life and not completely reconfigure your sacred beliefs every time someone casually mentions astral projection? as if.

so that’s the first thing. the second thing is chicago, a city i am trying so hard to love and that has a history like a loose thread: you pull and it doesn’t end. the third thing, of course, is the killing. on that matter, at least emotionally, i side with this kid.

more another time; i’m off to nashville.


the good news is that an event took place in My Struggle. that was close. for a while it seemed as if no events were going to take place. now we are into well trodden territory but with some satisfying insights. for example that the modern world has sapped the great superstructures of our civilization (religion, science, art, etc) of their mystery. whereas we used to look at these superstructures and see fingers pointing to things beyond beyond them and beyond humanness—which we would then endeavor to understand—the great superstructures have now become the entire pursuit. in other words, we look at art and religion and science and we forget that they are not the point; we forget that their only purpose is to point to something beyond. the author makes this point in order to underscore his bigger point: that today it is only death that deals in beyond.

meantime, i have made a resolvation (this is when you make a reservation to enact a resolution (my daughter went through a phase of combining words, is how that happened)) to ship. ship is when you show your work instead of speaking abstractly about it. ship is when you forsake perfection and you embrace done-ness. ship is the willingness to endure evaluation, accountability, and disappointment. so i’ve resolvated (need to check with my daughter on the conjugation) to ship. in good faith, here is a panel from a comic i have been working on about Rex, who i don’t like and who doesn’t like me.