* (restored)

As a long term side project, I’ve started writing a book called The Ten Thousand. My goal for this project is to write ten thousand picture stories that I’ll share regularly on social media. So far I’ve written more than five hundred stories. I predict that it’ll take me between five and ten years to complete this project. The photographs I use are found wherever I can get them. All of the stories are 140 characters or less.

I chose to write ten thousand stories because “the ten thousand things” is an ancient Buddhist expression which means “everything that exists in this world.” I also figure that if I do something thousands of times, I’ll get really good at it.

In this blog post I’ve picked some of my favorite stories from the book. I like them a lot and I hope you enjoy them too. If you do, please take a moment to follow me on:

 

 

 

 

(11) Zo draped her house in blankets and played silent air guitar in the living room for weeks like someone screaming on the moon.

 

 

 

(25) Bobby and Loraine jumped off a bridge in 1962. Being a ghost seemed like more fun than being a kid.

 

 

 

(27) Henry Zapo wept continually for this passing unrepeatable world, taking 400 pictures a day, tears blurring the lens.

 

 

 

(36) Molly Vollo owned 400 wigs, one for each day, to hide the naked skull that kept her troubled mind.

 

 

 

(40) When Cecelia Pinn turned 17 she recorded 900 punk songs in a year, gave all the cassettes to Goodwill, and cut her throat.

 

 

 

(55) The Bruja sisters found a decapitated head in the woods who told them of the outer gates where all the fires sing.

 

 

 

(57) Jimbo held his cigarette aloft and watched it burn like a sun, the only bright spot in his galaxy of nothing.

 

 

 

(59) Jeb and Deb were tanning bed freaks. They liked to eat dinner naked, muscle juice dripping from their exhausted golden skin.

 

 

 

(63) Katy Kinkong was the deadliest girl in Houston. Men desperately threw themselves at her like jumpers embracing cement.

 

 

 

(71) Every year, the spirit of the season filled Kenny Christmas so completely that he swelled up three times bigger.

 

 

 

(87) Men’s eyes stuck to her like slime on a slug, but when approached she only burped and said: My heart belongs to Jesus.

 

 

 

(95) Roy Orbison planted his mind behind impenetrable sunglasses, kissed cigarettes all night, and smirked at every singer.

 

 

 

(105) Cherry was the wild unwanted one: slurring, drunk, and screaming, with an ever wounded heart and a trail of bad reviews.

 

 

 

(123) Sissy woke up like something dredged from the deep sea bottom. She snorted a pill and a heavy wave pushed over her, sending her back.

 

 

 

(134) As her husband yakked, she turned her head to stare at the disgusting mutants who filled the convention hall, gulping down air like pigs.

 

 

 

(137) Squid could suck his own dick. He huffed paint and punched himself in the head and howled at night. He died at 23 and that’s how he’ll always be.

 

 

 

(169) As she got older, she slimmed down to bones and wrinkles. That’s what living does to you, not death. Death makes you bloom again.

 

 

 

(178) Once a week she washed her clothes in a public bathroom, whispering ceaseless praises to God for this beautiful, broken, unrelenting world.

 

 

 

(181) Try as they might, no man could make her fall in love. Her heart was like a howling pack of wolves. Nobody was moon enough.

 

 

 

(197) He was friendly enough when the bottle was still half full, but past that he only got meaner. By the last swallow he was Satan.

 

 

 

(199) How does the night speak? With a tongue as quick as a serpent’s and poison under its lips. It says: Soon you will all be with me again.

 

 

 

(218) They don’t have dicks, pussies, lips, eyes, hearts, soft hair. They stick unfeeling bones into empty sockets. Skeleton love.

 

 

 

(234) No More Romance 2017

 

 

 

(246) Give the devil a big wet kiss on the lips.

 

 

 

(248)
after walking every empty street
until the night was done
he washed up at the ocean’s feet
and got drunk with the sun

 

 

 

(256) Jill sat behind her sunglasses, silently dripping. “These bodies are temporary,” she thought. She bit her arm as hard as she could.

 

 

 

(268) The writer loved the idea that some incorporeal form of him could sit in the lap of countless strangers. Intimate for hours, for evenings.

 

 

 

(271) Beyond the edge of the yard was the forest, filled with gaping darkness like an open mouth. He could smell its breath from his bedroom.

 

 

 

 

year. 

 

 

 

(288) They sang ‘Erotic City’ twice, the only song they’d bothered to learn. Then they peed themselves on stage. That’s what it takes to be great.

 

 

 

(293) They stole her parents’ electronics, sold them on ebay, and bought enough bath salts to trip for months. Get your priorities straight.

 

 

 

(298) ‘Wild In the Streets’ blasted through the boombox, winding through six greasy pill-strung brains. All their hairdos nodded in agreement.

 

 

 

(313) Mark rolled 6 feet of pizza dough and stuck it in his pants. “I GOT THE BIGGEST DICK ALIVE! USA! USA!” So they elected him CEO of Dominoes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(359) rEbA kIllEd hErsElf bY crUshIng hEr skUll In wIth hEr bArE hAnds. tHe UnIvErsE InsIdE hEr mInd wAs hOrrIblE. sO shE obIitErAtEd It.

 

 

 

(362) Above a snow wasteland, the florescent used car lot sign shone like a nativity angel. It said unto the world: Hark! Money and garbage forever.

 

 

 

(372) Look through the walls. Do you see the distance all around us? It’s the truth under every beautiful dream.

 

 

 

(379) With luck, one day your name might also become a part of the culture. The culture, the same thing that sells Taco Bell “meat.” Congrats.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(396) The best thing about being 100% dreamy is everyone loves your eyes. The worst thing about being 100% dreamy is nobody stays real for long.

 

 

 

(423) Speeding through the summer like a howl in a cave.

 

 

 

(430) The fourth drink told her to relax. The fifth drink muttered jokes in her ear. The sixth drink said nothing matters.

 

 

 

(435) The incomparable joy of occasionally meeting someone else who gets it.

 

 

 

(460) He liked to walk shirtless through the pristinely decorated house his wife had made and spoil its delicacy with cigarette smoke and back hair.

 

 

 

(473) Doing meth is like knowing how happy fires must feel while they burn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(535) Mid-sob, she had a vision of all the squiggling creatures and chemical hallways inside her tears, each one its own galaxy. It didn’t help.

 

 

(561) The trouble with islands is they think they’re the only solid thing around. The beauty of islands is their determination to touch air.

 

 

(570)
a stereo
a drink
a cat
and a sunday dinner spread alone.
some people never find lasting satisfaction in these things
because
they’re dumb.

 

 

(582)
lEAvE mE AlOnE.


l/e/a/v/e/m/e/a/l/o/n/e.


lleavve mme allonne.


(l)(e)(a)(v)(e) (m)(e) (a)(l)(o)(n)(e).


how many fucking ways can i say it

 

 

(589) She snuck out and smoked a joint. It made her feel soft and juicy inside, like a ripe fruit. Now was the time when her brain tasted best.

 

 

(597) Thirty human beings in a subway car. Thirty parallel universes bouncing below the city. I don’t understand boredom, but I understand fatigue.

 

 

(625) Drink until the glass starts drinking you.

 

 

(635) Her entire life Cecilia had been incredibly adept at figuring out when she was being lied to.

 

 

(639) We need to have a talk with the children…we just can’t do this every night. Halloween ended eight months ago.

 

 

 

(641) Cowboy boots that make rocks pop and crumble beneath them with every step. Eyes that cut like bullets through all the Devil’s tricks.

 

 

(652) And when the aliens arrive, filling the air with magic lasers, they’ll ask: Where’s Elvis? And we’ll reply, so sadly: You’re late.

 

 

(669) “Flamingos are phallic, you know,” she said, batting her four pound eyelashes. She would lay in her yard all day and tell it to whoever passed by.

 

 

(673) She swam through my mind all summer. Not once did I come up for air.

 

 

(683) t(w)r(i)e(n)e(d)s

 

 

(691) O to be a sunbeam in the city. O to spend two seconds there and bounce back to space. O to glance off 10,000 uncaring surfaces and disappear.

 

 

(693) Fame is like the caged tiger in a travelling circus. Legend is like the thing in the jungle that ate six people and was never seen again.

 

 

(704) She was a night diamond. Something sacred. Something that decent people don’t know about.

 

 

(707) Cops killed Jesus.

 

 

(710) After dark they’d grab their skateboards and move through the city like eels: all teeth, eyes, and slither.

 

 

(718) The same dark that falls on West Virginia is the same dark that cradles Saturn. The same dark is in my mouth too, while I hum a quiet song.

 

 

(721) No dope, no furniture, no car, no plans, no stability. Times are hard! No job, no family, no credit, no expectations. Maybe not that hard.

 

 

(731)
The broken world breaks.
The fresh wound aches.
The tired skin flakes.

God will make what He will make.
We will take what we can take.

 

 

(734) I used to think there wasn’t any goodness in the world, but then I started seeing deer in the country. So gentle. People like to shoot them.

 

 

(738) One night she drove her bike straight into the waves. I will ride the sea floor forever, she said. I’m sick of all this goddamned Love.

 

 

(744) A song spilled from the blackbird’s throat into the air. It was the same song that all birds sing: I am alone, but I am searching.

 

 

(751)
“Hello, what can I get ya’ll?”
“I’d like a boyfriend who’s not a stinking piece of shit, please.”
“And for you?”
“Just kill me.”

 

 

(763) At dawn the pink light of morning rolled through like everyone’s favorite sweetheart, blowing kisses at every window in town.

 

 

(764) The city is my church, like the song says. I don’t know what we believe in, but I know my soul depends on it.

 

 

(777) The dream of the unrepentant prodigal. A shadow carrying her far away from home. Her lonely cries filling the air.

 

 

(778) Death had been good to Jackson. Now he was neon. For timeless eternity he floated through darkness, admiring himself.

 

 

 

(794) THINGS ART CAN DO: Put your mind into the world. Seduce you with better love. Fill you with vision. Deepen your understanding. Fuck shit up. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A+F+T+E+R+L+I+F+E from Chris Dankland on Vimeo.


                                                              thanks for reading !!

 

 

*

p.s. Hey. ** Bill, Hi. (1st, officially). Strange about the meh Nauman show, but ace at seeing D.L. in a far flung (?) locale. I don’t have that book, I need to get it. I think I’m still upswinging, thank you, sir, ** Dominik, Hi!!! Yeah, seeming gradual improvement apart from my ear. Love’s slacking off. Glad you liked the voracious art. I’m telling you, get yourself a portable vacuum cleaner with a long nozzle and suck those skeeters into the void. It works like almost a charm. Even bathrooms deserve holidays. Love feeding me an ice cream sandwich (it’s hot here), G. ** _Black_Acrylic, I remember that Toto Coelo song. It was a hit, at least on MTV, in the US too. Have you ever in your searches through the distant pop chart past heard Cannibal & The Headhunters? I think this was their only hit. ** Lucas, Hi. Thanks, Lucas. So far so good. I didn’t know that ‘Bones and All’ birthed anything. I thought it sunk like a stone. But I’m Twitter-free. I am detecting some kind of Burroughs mini-revival happening on Facebook, which is yawn. Zine this weekend, or, well, today. Eardrops first. Have a lovely couple of days. ** Corey Heiferman, Hi. Well, I’m hopefully exiting the sickness realm, but best not to jinx that with too much articulation. The film stuff is massively way beyond frustrating, and thank you. Hm, I think when I go to bandcamp, I always have a specific target in mind. I often head over there after reading the latest issue of The Wire and seeking proof of the scribes’ descriptions and opinions, as that seems to be where most of my successful tips originate. Tokyo is stuffed with possibilities. Let me think. Travel-wise, Kyoto is really nice, and Osaka is a short jump from there. There’s the art islands (Naoshima, etc.) which are favorite go-to destination, but I’m not sure you’ll have enough time since Tokyo offers many days of explorables in and of itself. ** Deisel Clementine, Haha, John (Waters) knows everything. I’m not kidding. That was a helluva good comment. That Lispector quote is so ripe it’s positively scary. Thank you, kind one. ** David Ehrenstein, I just linked to that song up above! Great minds of a certain age think alike? I would think the Robert Wilson Foundation has some kind of data archive on people who worked with him if you really want to know? ** Misanthrope, I have a theory that one can rest by rushing around. There’s no scientific basis for that however. Onwards and upwards is the distant hope, yes. Thanks. I looked up Poehemia and the only thing I found was some band that plays Celtic rock music. No thank you. Maybe you mean Poe as in Edgar Allan? Enjoy whatever it is. ** Steve, I am virtually 100% certain that immense stress caused by the film mess is what occasioned my sickness. Uh, I don’t think there was any outage here, as far as I can tell. I haven’t heard or read anything about it, if so. I really want to see the Eno doc, obviously. I saw the Meiwes-adjacent movie ‘Rotenburg’, which was truly dreadful. ** Uday, Maybe Goya was trying to be more commercial? You’re almost post-teens! Congrats. Oh, I’m sure you’ll look back on your teens and think they were a very interesting time, and you’ll be somewhat amazed by what your teenaged self did. What does that mean: ‘the emotional parent’? I’m not as perky as a nipple in Siberia, but what or who is? Maybe what’s her name … Kylie Minogue? Even if I did want to swim in the Seine, which, yes, I certainly do not for the obvious reasons, Paris went into Olympics lockdown on Thursday, and now I can’t even get close enough to the Seine to look at it because it’s in ‘the red zone’. Thanks, though. Have a fine late-teenaged weekend while you still can. ** Justin D, Hi! I just got your email/download this morning. Thank you so infinitely much! I’m going to strap on my headphones and kick back and shut my eyes and hear where you think I should go this weekend. Really, thank you so much! Not much on my docket so far. It’s pretty hot here, and heat is a big damper for me. I still hope to see ‘Twisters’. I have slight hopes that I might finally receive/look at a copy of ‘Flunker’ at extremely long last. Eat some ice cream. What about you and yours? ** Harper, Hi. Lucky you. I still have never seen any Gaudi thing of any shape or size in person. Every time I see a restaurant that says Tapas, I always avoid it. I think maybe because it makes me want to eat Mexican food, and Tapas restaurants do not serve Mexican food tragically. Right, even really good, exciting, cool museums have horrible, disappointing gift shops. So strange. I can’t figure it out. Maybe museum gift shops are franchised or something. I think I do understand what you mean about that ‘erotic’ art, yes. What did you end up bumping into on your free day? I hope things that could qualify as glorious. ** James Bennett, Thanks, James. It was an interesting and abiding pleasure to put together. People who grow up in LA tend to talk very vaguely in rambling, incomplete sentences that are full of uncertainty and hint more than communicate. At least in my romantic assessment. ‘Hollywood Babylon’ is fun. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that most of it is fabricated. Wow, pricey: ‘My Mark’. Boy, do I wish I’d held onto a lot of copies of that. I’d be … well, not rich, but better off. I ended up building a novella around ‘My Mark’ called ‘Safe’, but ‘My Mark’ is the only part that I still think is very good. Thank you, yeah, the film stuff is so horrible at the moment that I don’t even know what’s going to happen other than the film getting finished and out at some point whatever it takes. ** 🌟Gurl, Nice Mario-like star there. Thank you so much about ‘Flunker’, pal. I might even get to finally see a copy this weekend if I’m very lucky. Have a fine, fine weekend. ** Oscar 🌀, Hi. Haha, message received. I think? Yes, I think so. I might have already mentioned this, but in Zac’s and my new film there’s a scene where two characters are about to go to sleep in two tents they’ve set up in the backyard, and one of the characters picks up a flashlight and uses it to send a message in morse code/light through the walls of their tents to the other character, but I don’t think people are going to realise that’s what he’s doing, and I’m borderline sure that no one will decode the message, which is exciting. Did you know there’s a secret cabal in the Hollywood film industry, and one if its tenets is that if anyone tattoos ‘Hi, Oscar’ on any visible part of their body, Steven Spielberg has to cast them as the lead actor in his next movie? Just a little tip for you to think about the next time you’re in Hollywood. Huh, I just checked, and I don’t I have a favorite cannibal entry. Strange. I wonder what that means. Not ‘Eating People’ though, for sure. You can give that extra copy of ‘Flunker’ to your grandma! That would be so thoughtful of you. Nice weekend, my friend. ** Okay. I was looking back through the archives of this place, and I came across the really terrific, in my opinion, post up there put together by the very gifted writer, editor, and more Chris Dankland. I wonder if he’s still working on that project. I’d guess not, but maybe he’ll pop in here and say. Anyway, enjoy it, it’s great, I think. See you on Monday.

_____________
Michaël Borremans Fires from the Sun (2017)
Oil on panel

 

______________
Enrique Chagoya Cannibull’s Soup (2003)
screenprint on paper on aluminum cans

 

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Salvador Dali The nostalgia of the cannibal (1932)
Oil on canvas

 

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FASTWÜRMS Cannibal Nympho Witch (2012)
‘Cannibal Nympho Witch is about a society of transgenetic Witches living in a ‘tranny’ future world they have created after the ecological destruction and total economic collapse of the 21st century.’

 

______________
Jérôme Zonder Jeu-denfants n°1 (2010)
lead on paper

 

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Anna Perach Holes (2024)
mixed media

 

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Éder Oliveira Five Young Men Who Were Eaten by Cannibals (2017)
Paint and pencil on canvas

 

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Jonathan David Lange Cannibals Eat Public Speaker (2019)
Painting, marker on Paper

 

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Emily Anderson Cannibals: Myth & Reality (2018)
installation

 

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Odd Nerdrum Cannibals (2018)
Oil on canvas

 

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Clemens von Wedemeyer The Fourth Wall (2008-2010)
‘The film-based installation “The Fourth Wall”, by celebrated German artist Clemens von Wedemeyer, explores the relationship between fact and fiction in documentary-making. It focuses on the controversial 1971 “discovery” of the Tasaday people in the Philippines, who were purportedly still living primitively and untouched by civilisation. There is a fleeting moment of a simulation of cannibalism from a film clip. It’s a sensational representation, but it’s quite clearly not a real moment.’

 

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Shelton Walsmith Hansel + Gretel (2022)
Oil on Canvas

 

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Bob van der Wal Belief System Of A Cannibal Soul 2 (2020)
‘A hyper real foot with numbered toe nails modelling a crushed glass bong.’

 

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Zhu Yu Dinner – Eating People (2004)
‘In his performance art piece Eating People, Zhu photographs himself cooking and eating a human fetus that he divided into five parts. Zhu says that “I herewith announce my intention and my aim to eat people as a protest against mankind’s moral idea that he/she cannot eat people.” In further response to Zhu’s performance, The Ministry of Culture cited a menace to social order and the spiritual health of the Chinese people, and banned exhibitions involving culture, animal abuse, corpses, and overt violence and sexuality. However, this piece did not even appear at the exhibit; the night before the exhibition, Ai Weiwei collaborated with Zhu and the photographs were removed from the gallery. This piece was thought particularly controversial, and organizers did not want to risk government censorship for the rest of the exhibit. The response to this work stemmed from its appearance on the internet shortly after. This later generated the question of whether eating babies was accepted in Asia on various myth-debunking websites.”‘

 

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Lisa Ng Cannibal Nachos (2011)
Acrylic on Canvas

 

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Adriana Varejao For a cannibal rhetoric (1996)
oil on canvas with epoxy paste

 

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‘Selvik Wenshoel, a young man from Norway recently garnished and ate his own hipbone, which he served with potato gratin. Grotesque to us, but to Wenshoel it was a natural process, which he documented via film. A lifetime of physical pain caused by a deformed hip ritually ended with a moment of emotional pain. Ultimately, his aim was to provoke “My goal is to get the audience reflecting. Life is short and people have the habit of running away from pain… Pain is not physical—it’s an idea”.’

 

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Zhang Huan Foam (1) (1998)
‘In this artwork, artist Zhang Huan, face covered in foaming bubbles, opens his mouth to reveal a black-and-white photograph of a baby lying on its back and playfully grabbing its feet. Zhang writes, “Life is like a dream. It is transient. Just like foam, it sparkles out and dies in less than a second. I love this baby and I hate this baby. I wanted to eat it. I wanted to eat myself.”’

 

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Mark Adams Cook’s Sites: View into Cannibal Cove from Motuara Island (2007)
Gold toned silver bromide fibre-based prints

 

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Allan Graves from Monsterama Issue #4 (2022)
Zine-inspired art catalog

 

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Nicola Samorì Cannibal Trail (2014-2017)
Oil on canvas

 

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Matt MacFarland Frankfurter (2012)
‘Why is there a self-cannibalizing hot dog statue perched on a building off Alhambra.’

 

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Christopher Reynolds The Pleasures of the Table, 2012
Maple butcher block, mixing bowl, metal, 8 chef’s knives, magnetic knife rack, 8 aprons, metal hooks

 

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Gunawan Rb George Fisher Cannibal Corpse Spirit (2021)
drawing and Photoshop

 

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Minerva Cuevas Feast and Famine (2022)
‘Cannibalism is the only thing that unites us. Socially. Economically. Philosophically. And Chocolate.’

 

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Kacper Piskorowski Cannibals (2007)
Acrylic on canvas

 

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Granger Victims Of Alfred Packer (2012)
drawing

 

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‘Canadian artist Victoria Van Dyke, a self-proclaimed cannibal, shocked the world on March 7th when she showed up at an art gallery at 401 Richmond in Toronto with her chopped off little piggy in a jar and asked to show it in the gallery. The gallery (which prefers not to be mentioned) refused to show the “sculpture” and immediately contacted 911 concerned they might have a lunatic on their hands.

‘Police arrived on the scene shortly after and after discussing the matter with the artist later told the gallery “Sorry, there’s nothing we can do. She seems stable and she’s done nothing illegal.”

‘Victoria Van Dyke spent two years in a mental asylum (she willingly placed herself there) where she received psychiatric treatment for cannibalism. The artist admits a strong thirst to eat the flesh of humans, but objects to the immorality of killing. According to the psychiatric review board that reviews Van Dyke’s case she is safe to live in society and people should not fear having the self-confessed cannibal living in their neighbourhood. Still local residents do grow concerned when told they have a cannibal living in Toronto.

‘UPDATE: In 2009 Ms Van Dyke received a request from an American man looking to buy the toe (so he could eat it), but she refused to sell it to him. Ms Van Dyke now describes herself as an “ex-cannibal” and admits her mood swings years ago were pretty wacky due to all the medications she was on.’

 

 

*

p.s. RIP Bob Newhart. I think I’m feeling a bit better today. ** _Black_Acrylic, ‘Fallen Leaves’ is really good, as I think I already said. I miss my CD player. At the same time, the idea of buying a new one seems weird. In any case I’ll try to find an immaterial version of the Shackleton. ** Deisel Clementine, Productive morning, good. ‘Ooze a bit more’: now that’s an interesting editorial suggestion. I’m guessing you know how to make wordage ooze when called upon? What did your unofficial editor decree? I seem to be upswinging health-wise this AM, thank you. ** Dominik, Hi!!! I feel a little better. Just in time for the arrival of a little heatwave, so all bets are off. Since that silver thing is resting close to the Seine where the big opening Olympics ceremony water parade is supposedly happening, I assume it’s a flying prop under which some famous person will be spotlit riding on an airborne platform doing some sort of Santa Claus-like number? I need love’s skill of yesterday very much, as I’m guessing do you. I’m spending part of every day walking around in my bedroom with a portable vacuum cleaner inhaling them off the walls. Love unclogging my right ear, G. ** David Ehrenstein, Hi. Oh, I always find it refreshing when filmmakers don’t like Scorcese. Well, ‘knowing’ Barthelme would be pushing it, but I went to a number of literary parties where he was there, and we had some very charming conversations. I don’t know what a Vodka Gibson is, but I will find out. I’m assuming not Gibson as in Mel. ** Lucas, Hi! Oh, ‘Gang of Four’ is great, yeah. It’s so exciting to find a filmmaker who really, really works for you in a full way like Bresson does for me. That’s awesome! I’m bettering, I think, I hope, and I hope to be in a proper state to devour your zine by tomorrow, or that’s the plan. ** Joseph, Hi. ‘Fallen Leaves’ is terrific, or I thought so. If you like him, I think you’ll like it. Haha, that ‘Critique’ damage. Well, and sorry too, of course. I love the full title! Wow, what a good title! It calls to mind the title of one of my favorite films (and favorite-ly titled films), Kluge’s ‘Artists Under the Big Top: Perplexed’. Thanks for the health wish. It might be working. ** Harper, Hi. The best thing people can do in Paris is just walk around for long intervals, and I’m guessing it’s the same there. We just got hot here, ugh. Iced espressos aren’t that great. I hear you on the grating aspect. I hope you can sneak off. It sounds possible. Stay cool and revved up. Me too. ** James Bennett, I’m from LA where everything is kind of a ‘kind of’. We like to hedge our bets, we Angelenos. I’m a 90+% bandcamp guy myself. I wish one could dance around there like one does on Spotify, but still. That’s where almost all the music I listen to resides. Generally I don’t listen to music while actually writing. It’s too hard. Beforehand to power up, for sure. I did write one my very earliest prose works, ‘My Mark’, only while listening to the live disc half of Joy Division’s ‘Still’ album as a structural principal. Now I can’t figure out how I manage to concentrate. Can you actually listen to music with singing/lyrics when you’re writing? That I can’t do at all. Like I said, I use bandcamp really most of the time. Soundcloud sometimes. The phlegm seems to be moving into my right ear, which is quite annoying even if it makes thinking a little easier. Happy early birthday! I hope you get hugely surprising and intuitively genius gifts. This weekend: our film is trapped in such a huge disastrous mess right now — it would take fifteen p.s.es to explain, so I won’t — that I assume the weekend will be spent trying to figure how to survive that. And feeling better, one hopes. And finding a friend willing to see ‘Twisters’ with me, one hopes. Your weekend sounds pretty potentially top. ** Justin D, Thanks, Justin. I think my health is upswinging, but we will see. Me too: my immune system is kind of miraculous, and I’m guessing it’ll put this cold to bed pretty quick. Thanks again, pal. What’s your weekend? ** Darby☃, I could use that snowman. No, you can’t touch the mouse. It’s art. There’s a guard stationed in the vicinity. I like Frankie without even having met Frankie. Stylish, that one. I’m feeling a little better. Hopefully the better feeling is not a prank. I guess I’ll find out. Elon Musk appears to be just about as miserable a human being as it is possible to be. So sorry about the mess with the papers. Ugh. Just keep forging ahead. Don’t let these mess makers trip you up. Enjoy the movie. Enjoy your friend. ** Right. Here’s a self explanatory post for you if ever was one. See you tomorrow.