Like passing through the atmosphere and trying to see outside the plane, but it’s hard to make out anything below or know when we’re going to land.
We didn’t move to the beach for that, we moved there to postpone growing up for one more summer.
So sadly defined by work, cut out like a bowl.
We are living this life where everyone we encounter is just a version of ourselves, the same as in dreams. How long have we been imagining shapes in the clouds? Or telling stories?
I went down into the quarry and my calves burned coming out.
Mondays are best for jazz.
An odd day I didn’t get out until the end of it. Got up early and went to bed early. Both times with the birds coming on. That building arc in the morning you can’t not-hear once it starts, but… Read More ›