This morning I woke up to terror such as I have never experienced before: I was entirely stripped of feeling. Everything was gone; it was as if I had lost something that had been entrusted to me the previous evening, something I was supposed to take special care of overnight. I was in the position of someone who has been assigned to guard an entire sleeping army, but suddenly finds himself mysteriously blinded, deaf, and effaced. Everything was gone. I was completely empty, without pain, without longing, without love, without warmth and friendship, without anger, without hate. Nothing, nothing was there anymore, and I was left like a suit of armor with no knight inside. It took a long time before I even felt alarmed.

thanks for summing that up for me perfectly werner herzog

a few years ago, when my family still lived in my hometown (now empty of all of them), i found some boxes in my mother’s basement that i guess i had left there in 2011 when i moved from baltimore to austin. i found so many letters my dad had written me, some of them written on napkins and left on my steering wheel for me to find when i drove to school, and they all pretty much said the same thing: “i’m sorry that there have been times when i have failed you, but i love you very much and i always will.”

i have no idea when i will see my dad or any of my family again. it could be years, and it could just as well never happen again


that is not dead which can eternal lie,
and with strange aeons even death may die.

As the snows fell during our first winter together, Neon Grandfather gently lowered himself onto one knee and whispered in my ear:


i woke up and couldn’t remember anything i did yesterday except sit in a sushi bar by myself

i feel a sort of massive serotonin brain drain going on today

alone! horribly alone!!!

david mamet talking about his friend ricky jay, who died three days ago:

“I’ll call Ricky on the phone,” Mamet says. “I’ll ask him—say, for something I’m writing—‘A guy’s wandering through upstate New York in 1802 and he comes to a tavern and there’s some sort of mountebank. What would the mountebank be doing?’ And Ricky goes to his library and then sends me an entire description of what the mountebank would be doing. Or I’ll tell him I’m having a Fourth of July party and I want to do some sort of disappearance in the middle of the woods. He says, ‘That’s the most bizarre request I’ve ever heard. You want to do a disappearing effect in the woods? There’s nothing like that in the literature. I mean, there’s this one 1760 pamphlet—“Jokes, Tricks, Ghosts and Diversions by Woodland, Stream and Campfire.” But, other than that, I can’t think of a thing.’ He’s unbelievably generous. Ricky’s one of the world’s great people. He’s my hero. I’ve never seen anybody better at what he does.”