When I visited The Pink-Haired Girl in Portland last July, we would drive around every night and stay out real late. She had some good playlists she’d made. I remember one night driving back across the Washington border, she put this on. I’ve always loved this song. Sailor and Lula are listening to it while driving through the desert at night in Wild at Heart.

Man, that was a good summer . . . maybe the best one I’ve had in ten years, and that girl is cool as hell. See you in LA. Yeah.

sometimes i’ll just be sitting there and i’ll think “man, bill paxton’s FRAILTY is so good” lol

RIP bill :,(

He felt, in his head, loud voices singing: terrible music, as if the reality around him had gone sour. Everything now—the fast-moving cars, the two men, his own car with its hood up, the smell of smog, the bright, hot light of midday—it all had a rancid quality, as if, throughout, his world had putrefied, rather than anything else. Not so much become all at once, because of this, dangerous, not frightening, but more as if rotting away, stinking in sight and sound and odor. It made him sick, and he shut his eyes and shuddered.

i sent amissa a coconut to plant

ok good-night ☆彡

leila rules

this is me hangin out on acheron island today

add me! here: SW-7500-6665-5416

🍒🌝

katie and me in queens a few weeks ago

not pictured: spano, monty, and shaina

well wait actually they can be the little naked people on that bottle of crappy wine that shaina’s boss gave her

☆彡

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not” is probably my favorite thing to hear, but I reckon second place goes to “Yes, Ryan, I know you got a vasectomy. You told me 20 minutes after I met you.”

(lol)

hey other than that chinese dude who is shipping millions of face masks and test kits to the united states to help ordinary people survive, where are all the quote-unquote altruistic billionaires we don’t tax who are supposed to swoop in and save us? isn’t the intellectually dishonest argument for their continued existence that they can perform miracles for the greater good with their mountains of money? it’s almost as if we should be taxing the shit out of them to begin with so we can pay for even the simplest resources we need in order to combat a catastrophic pandemic that is almost certainly going to wipe out millions of at-risk americans, rather than “hoping” they chip in at some point. healthcare workers don’t have face masks to wear when treating the infected, who, insanely, we can’t even readily test yet, unlike south korea who is testing tens of thousands of people a day and thereby flattening the curve. meanwhile we’re all living like fucking cockroaches until this spiritually-bankrupt government gets around to operating like the richest and most prosperous country on the planet that it supposedly is. what a disaster. fuck the rich. buncha scumbags. oops!!!

WELL: As soon as they lift the out-of-doors human ban on the Bay Area, hopefully by next March (hah!!), I’m gonna get me a death tattoo and a black car and go to that strange sad place and start working on my PI license. Really!

I’ve been writing some letters destined for NYC and LA and Milwaukee and even San Francisco. I just got to get my hands on some stamps so I can get them to where they’re going. And these here letters are in cute pastel pink and purple envelopes I bought from a stationary store on College Ave. in Berkeley one fall day not too long ago. They’re so beautiful but I’d rather my friends have them. I’m running a lean operation these days and anyway these fine individuals could use some words in a nice envelope right about now. That and, c’mon, you don’t buy an envelope to keep it, for god’s sake. Get real.

Until I can fulfill my dream of living alone in a gloomily-lit studio apartment in a weird neighborhood and in a weird city, seated before a stupidly huge TV with purple-ringed eyes and with a thermos of green tea on a little Muji table at my knees, I must keep writing things . . . because what the hell else am I really good for anymore, if not this.

Amissa, I miss you . . . and you too, Anatalia. I got something for both of you. Assuming the US Postal Service doesn’t sink into the abyss like the rest of human civilization seems destined for, I reckon you’ll have something in your respective mailboxes soon.

OK!