Beneath the excitement of travel was a core of sadness, knowing this would become the memory of a place he’d seen for the last time.

The simple, deadpan images somehow contained the threat of imminent annihilation.

He came roaring out of school and hit a 50 year wall of indifference. Life, baby.

You spy your father at the Whole Foods, sitting on a lawn chair under a tree. When you ride by hours later, he is still there, chatting with the parking lot attendant. A regular. When did he become the old guy in the baseball cap, talking to anyone who will listen? And what did you think he did with his days?
Not lonely, after all. Brave.

Advertising speaks to fear while promoting the illusion of its absence.

We had no money then, and what little we had we spent on drugs. Back when we were still friends. Before I annoyed you, and my hair looked like shit.

They mourned their loss and then lived in its ashes.

A season of grey drizzle, jet fuel, burnt coffee, lavatory disinfectant. Looking back, it all seems rather exotic. I miss it. I’m so tired. So sad. So angry. If we met now, I wonder if you’d know me.

We all fell apart, while they just got younger and younger.

K said you can learn the most from your relationship to those closest—
(clears throat) I know where you’re going with this.
and also what feelings you project onto them—
Primarily, I guess, disappointment? Profound irritation? Probably more toward the disgusted end of the spectrum? Like 95% of the way?

The solipsistic awfulness of the selfie gaze,
as perceived by its intended recipients.

 {German word for missing something before it’s gone}

Becoming good at something is a kind of loss.

Not really a grid, but grid-signifying ornamentation.

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