september to december 2023

links to note collections are reverse chronological, notes themselves are chronological.




Deal with whatever this ain’t about and drop it

it’s only Hope that springs eternal

She wants birthdays, theaters, flags, peonies. I want words like lasers.

REAL LOVE AT THE END OF THE WORLD (chaos computer wall)

yesterday k watched peter capaldi doctor who and made coffee and ate dumb expensive granola and hoped it would summon me

According to George, ”Nothing happens in the world that doesn’t happen in the East End.”

a Fred Astaire elegance to the presidency

rose-tinted pens

she’s a teenage dream if you hate yourself

I’ll meet you at the vanishing point.

The solution was a combination of things I had tried separately but not together.

all screaming all the time, no drum stools not ever

A TWO-DIMENSIONAL SURFACE WITHOUT ANY ARTICULATION IS A DEAD EXPERIENCE

from a distance, I will keep you. in the dark, I will keep you.

Priests are a bit like owls in that some of them also have a sense for when miracles are afoot, he was having that suspicion now.

I could really stand to see an unfriendly face around here

”the international academic call-girl circuit”

actually, I’m the girl next door

learning your laws by poetry

Sleep well tonight, dream of destroying hotels...and highways...

between the instrumental and the intimate

The taste of lemon, words in your mouth, dancing, dawn. Moonrise over a city, over water, over snow.

the identity of the chemical is unknown

His accent is assiduously nonspecific, one that suggests the buried existence of something thick and geographical. An accent that gave away far more than he’d cared to tell.

And hands. And hands. He grabs hers to pull her over and thinks about nothing.

old sea captain of a train conductor: ”let’s close this puppy up and get this party started”

(only children know the miracle of nostalgia without a past).

A moment of acceleration in the night

respect for the adversary; hatred of the enemy

you were running a shard of the world from an run down cafe on Hutcheson St

being a real photographer means wearing cargo pants

first Ryan meets the arch angel gabriel now these mfs buying the sex blocker cereal

Working it out. Drawing in my head. Autumn in New York. Take a deep breath in. -K

old wounds, kiddo. make way for new ones.

where he keeps all of the other remnants of a universe he would rather not remember.

we were your first electric guitar

Mercury doesn’t exist anymore.

Gay Individual Social Mean

Calamity settles to a shimmer

Getting what you want means giving something up; every solution is beautiful, violent.

Does your son think you’re hip? Please be serious.

Future sex, drugs, dub, female assassins, and boys playing with computers.

I am in the wilderness/you are in the music in the man’s car next to me

I also chose to lay my brilliant, tangled rectangle to rest and write only in my paper journal.

FUCK ART LET’S DANCE

wake up and get right to it

whoever you liked in april

the exhilarating sadness of being out on your own

the controlled demolition of Tower 7 right in front of our eyes no Warren Report necessary

”Any story set in a big city should start at about six in the evening and end with the dawn.”

”ART IS OUR COMPASS TO THE COSMOS.”

Alright everybody, we got red and white wine behind the counter, I’m getting cocaine...it’s gonna be a great time

temptation by new order, holding cold hands

Metronome for a hammer and here you are, hunched over joyless and solemn for all the beautiful things you make.

a story in words he doesn’t know yet, all the notes he’s ever hummed alone in his bedroom...purpose in the dark and promises he hasn’t made.

how to play a game like war.

playing first tonight
bring us flowers or ssris

cross-sectarian teenage romances

he’s like if an enlightened sage was a 22 year old metalhead who likes to rollerblade in the house

I tried to walk it off
but I must have walked in the wrong direction.

live steel
An unceremonious second chance.

Asleep for twenty years with this feeling
But I was on your side

I was dead, I was dreaming, I woke up on the floor.

Part of me wants to be machine-gunned & part of me wants to get a stipend from the Council on Foreign Relations.

I really liked Jack at one point, & then I was pissed at myself for liking him, & now I don’t know what to think.

kissing is how you figure someone out they make sense when you make out

Oh dear! Perhaps I deserve a tenthousand dollar fine and cannot be trusted with bright & powerful things. However, I didn’t tell anybody, and now it’s over, so you can’t get me.

i can feel his presence in the attic
like love and fire and tv static

Action is the antidote to despair.

Behold, a deity stronger than I; who coming, shall rule over me.

I love writing code, if I could make enough money off writing code I’d do it forever, but I guess I gotta make clothes and 3d print wheat grinders or something

I am truly a weaver of light

Beckett, speaking of the Demiurge [démiurge], wrote to me: ”In your ruins I feel safe.”

I made a discovery today. I found a computer. Wait a second, this is cool. It does what I want it to. If it makes a mistake, it’s because I screwed it up. Not because it doesn’t like me... Or feels threatened by me.. Or thinks I’m a smart ass..

restless and epic

One is embarrassed to want so much for oneself. But, how else are you going to justify your failure and your effort?

you can dance if you want to.

kids who love art but never talk about it

a major force in widening the idea of a punk rocker from a mohawked guy in a motorcycle jacket to a nerdy girl in a cardigan

i guess maybe thats only my own head but this one feels moonlit. the way things are different as they pass in the dark. the way we can be ourselves after dark.

i am a catch and release boy.kind of. put summer in a pine box.i went to sleep in june and woke up in the middle of september.

fashion is like reincarnation

Like it or not we’re the only game in town

a few hours alone before coffee

out-blazing each ofher

we have a lot of experience of lack of experience

All journals lead into other journals, one continual narrative of life on earth

In my opinion, school is not a place for...shame.

Where is the new darkness?

But alas, in spite of all this spirit-breaking waste I felt intact, sturdy even, a soaring self looking around and noticing the minor things that importantly hung on, meekly insisting that the world is actually mysterious and unconquerable, even the weird beauties we have a tainted hand in: the glowing orange nighttime cloud cover, the echoing cross walk alarm, the din of the street, tires rotting, our weak castle being slowly demolished, these things can bring me slowness, calm power and cutting eyes in the right moments, and I felt it then looking up at the orange lights lighting unfortunate streets and reflecting back up and resonating through the thick cloud coating in an orange city glow, the black behind eerily reminding us not to forget what else, and I turned my cutting eyes your way and saw pools of brown just as wide as my holes of brown bearing honestly what we held inside for a second we were both looking brave and sharply seeing in.

we were separately mighty and tiny universes

a caelo usque ad centrum - from the sky into the center

Apparently ”komorebi” is ”sunlight through the trees” in Japanese. It’s not a word, it’s a feeling. Like effervescent piano, it’s a forest light dance evaporating into cotton.

Oh, 57 academics just punched the air

And if you are angry I will come, calm and steady, with some small and easy story.

He pointed out, you know, the silhouette of an opportunity

The same thing happened to me, only worse. Worse because it happened to me.

In 1930 he was conscripted into the French Army and stationed at Le Bourget near Paris, a time about which he later remarked: ”And I had quite a hard time of it, too, because I was toting Joyce under my arm and a Lebel rifle on my shoulder.”

I’m so cold. please hold me

for one week we are wrapping our heads around your town.

dusting off stories written in dust

Without God, it’s a vicious circle.

And your eyes like smoke and your prayers like rhymes

And your basement clothes and your hollow face
Who among them can think he could outguess you?