fone thoughts on a sausage fest

on screen one, a bunch of animated grocery store goods are running desperately for their lives. on screen two, I wrote this post o medium. screen three is my moms, and she is doing something on the very good app called Whatsapp. and here I am, swaddled in this blanket, watching so many screens at once

Even my mom will say to me: what did we do before the Internet? Indeed,

right. what did we do? I imagine movies were spent fully absorbed in screen one. or that, pre first movies, we were

fully absorbed in our own brains. which is funny because it is a post-postmodern thing to feel narcissistic, or worried about it, and back then when cows were killed by the likes of Tevye we must have existed more strongly in our own heads. Or books.

maybe the screens we stare at reflect our image back to ourselves too clearly?

here I am getting sidetracked, another feature of fones- even more sidetracked! back to the start: sitting around a sausage fest, right

the movie is — dethroned as an adjective. it is perfect in that sense; the obscene, fantastical, super interesting(that’s a new one) basic concept; array of characters that match his friends; obscene sexual references; rape and race jokes, somehow (yet questionably) acceptable; quippy dialogue. I think I like it best in theaters. The requisite amount of jewish jokes and veiled criticism of the Israeli/Palestinian conflict. like anyone knows where to o through that one these days.

now, that’s something to feel weird about these days. also feel weird that I’ve finished neither of the books book culture has posted on Twitter; also, I would like to stop being mentioned on Twitter. I don’t know why I prefer a secret online identity; I crave an audience,

but I crave one that is private. that’s not allowed for writers anymore these days- and I’ll call myself an aspiring public writer and an established public one, because I am well known to my own diaries, thank you very much.

ha, ha. when is it a bad thing to admit you want all you write to be genius? it is probably not, but I am trying to erase language of that punitive sort out of my vocabulary. the negative sort. because genius or not they are

my

words and that feels good for it, for its own sake,

words meaningful a dog their own context and mine.

see how funny it is, writing on the fone: all the line breaks above are accidents. they happened of the keyboards own volition. I think the autocorrect mistakes will also help to establish this a phone thing

this. what is this? it is me (little

me. narcissistic me because that is the buzzword these days, so why not) blogging while I watch Seth Rogens latest food orgy and wonder what life at school will be like that time. gettin nervous: imposter syndrome already setting in. will be a great year: only one left

signing off to watch fiddler on the roof