Vignettes

12.10.24

I’m by no means an old man’s pocket book. Time does refuse me, and I dance, frantically, awkwardly, perhaps even apologetically, around — only honest — mistakes.

This…folly and lackadaisical lullaby…that which drags me on the sidewalk, like a limp puppy, sings (softly, in my ear) cruelty.

Why — I ask mother, Matthew, Tom, and God — why do I love inconsideration? How am I so pure hearted — weak the more I see it — and yet oblivious to the innocuous strength of admitting passion. Is it an unhealed wound or a veritable truth that this broken caricature is — uninivited, to quote a song — unwanted?

11.30.24

i go to the back of the plane, and ask the flight attendant for an extra diet coke. she grabs the last one on the plane for me.

everyone’s now drinking diet coke, says the flight attendant

“is my order cool?” i used to ask in response to something like that.

in fairness, the fruit bars aren’t even mentioned when i inquire about the popularity of the 3 respective snacks

though think this theoretical thought - that is just cause they’re the worst (and of course, the healthiest) option

then what even is cool, if neither the correct and conventional or the obscure and scrutinizable. for my answer, you agree to concede that cool is neither (i do believe it’s not).

cool is the way you drink the coke (the attitude, the posture, the life), and the pride you have in being healthy (and disgusting).

i felt incredibly cool this entire week in austin. because i am.