THE END
Think more about your senses and less about your feelings. A website might be a newish kind of book. It’s a nice space in a warehouse-y way. Different cities have different infrastructures. Weight of the decanter slowly warps the tabletop. Breakfast date. Coffee date. Surprise date. Nap date. Irritation at the book for not lying flat on its spine. Was it something about your shoes or did you pull a muscle. The new blanket on the couch made it hard to go to bed. Crossing the horizon of words you knew you’d say. Just make the print on the screen a little bigger. Keep the phone from reflecting in the window surface. Specific desolation of standing on a corner. Where will the Christmas tree go this year. Time to retrieve your hairbrush from the gym. My greatest ambition is to clean out the closet. Take a picture with your phone then hit the envelope icon. It’s not like you can’t connect these dots. A certain kind of weariness as if you’ve worn out your eyes. What do I have to read to understand your talk. Tools of a revolution. Who do you know. If you can hear my voice it means you’re awake too late. Life of the mind in a way I suppose. Always slipping into something less comfortable. Google Maps put the walk at 65 or 69 hours. One joke about print culture is one joke too many. Drowsiness of the BBC news. Complacency of the brunch hour. I forgot to shop before the book sold out all over town. How to think about friendship and liberal individualism. I numbered this one five but it comes after six. The email sent at 2:30am and way too long. I said I don’t really have anything to add. How weird is the default adjective for interpretive richness. Sea salt. Too much mustard but mostly pleasurable. Someone must have said we want prisons not colleges. Taking the subway shorter and shorter distances. Sound of cars makes clear it’s still raining. Where the social ends and the political begins. I promised to send pictures of the taxidermied fish. I indiscreetly used the word undersocialized. Funny little rush of recognizing the commonest allusion. Little whoops of a siren somewhere nearby.
