My best friend Laura Rokas, the world-famous Canadian multimedia artist, has a show up in San Francisco. Tonight was opening night! I’m so sad I could not be there. All her paintings are food-themed and based on those old recipe cards people had in the 60s and 70s. She even baked a (vegan) cake in the same style for the opening:

Aw :,)

Anyway: if you’re in the Bay Area and want to go see it, the show runs till August 2nd at Rebecca Camacho Presents, which is located at . . .

526 Washington Street
San Francisco, California 94111

. . . and for God’s sake, buy something!!!

(. . . asked Odessa~)

There is a page on this website, don’t you know, called WEIRD JUNK, which can be found at all times up there on the topbar (if you’re on your phone), or to the right of here on the sidebar (if you’re on a desktop). It’s a sort of junk repository where I toss everything that has no other place to live on this here website. Anyway, I’ve been meaning to rework and expand upon it for literally a year, but I never seem to get around to it. Well! I went ahead and redesigned it and added a few things. I’m still working on it. I need to add sub-sites beyond my skincare routine, including ones for the Kermit the Frog funeral and resurrection (which have been done for years), a recipe for the smoothie I make every day (which people are always asking about), a form where you can request pro bono services from me (like if you need a wedding date or a pet-sitter or private investigative work (I’m serious)), and two more about the cars I’ve owned and the houses where I’ve lived, and on and on.

I have a lot of ideas . . . I just need to finish them, and make cute little icons for them as well. Another thing I want to do is have PDF and ePUB downloads for my books. This is mostly done . . . I’ll add those soon. And I need to make a place for all the essays I’ve written here over the years, which are just sort of lost in the enormous archives right now. As of today, my website has 6,100+ posts written over the span of 12 years (whoa), and lord knows you’d really have to go digging to find a lot of that longer stuff. Although I don’t recommend doing this anyway. Why would you?

BUT FOR NOW this is what I’ve got. OK!!!

P.S. Are you proud of me? This is the 26th day in a row that I’ve made a post here. I’m on a hot streak. I just gotta keep it going . . .

P.P.S. I’m sure eventually I’ll break my streak. It will be painful. But even still, just so you know, I’m going to keep updating this website till the day I die. Thanks for reading!

i remember many years ago when i was obsessed with the beach boys, i read an interview with paul mccartney where he said he wept the first time he ever heard “god only knows”. i think that interview is actually what prompted me to buy “pet sounds” in the first place . . .

. . . and late last night, as i was stoned and making coffee in my kitchen, i was thinking about brian wilson, may he rest in peace, and “pet sounds”, and on and on . . . so of course i thought about that song. i put it on for the first time in a long time. i’ve heard “god only knows” at least a thousand times in my life, but for some reason when i heard it this time, i started sobbing. without even realizing it, i had in mind a particular person just then, and connecting them to that song cut me clean in half. i went back out into my living room and lay on the rug and listened to it a dozen more times before i finally fell asleep

looks familiar lol

But as in landlessness alone resides highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God—so, better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety! For worm-like, then, oh! who would craven crawl to land! Terrors of the terrible! is all this agony so vain? Take heart, take heart, O Bulkington! Bear thee grimly, demigod! Up from the spray of thy ocean-perishing—straight up, leaps thy apotheosis!

I woke up feeling so sad today . . . perhaps it was the summer solstice, or some dark force even greater than that, but I did not want to do anything, and I never bothered to turn on any lights in my apartment. Instead I covered the windows and lit and burned candles. I made a rare daytime appearance in my neighborhood-for about fifteen minutes, signing autographs along the way, to retrieve a package from the späti one block over, and once I had it in hand (the box was stupidly enormous despite only containing a few dishes), I skulked back to the darkness of my high tower. It was warm out and everyone was sitting down at cafes and walking through the cathedral square, and on and on, but I wanted nothing to do with it today. I was unfit to participate in human society just then. Hah! This only added to my sorrow.

Back upstairs, I spent hours sitting around reading or lying on my couch staring at the ceiling until I felt this overwhelming sensation to sleep, as if lulled by a sorcerer. I reckon it was a defense mechanism issued by my brain to stop it from overheating. If I kept on thinking I would really begin to do myself real harm. I was so sad I needed to quit the world for a few hours. I curled up in the center of my bed and used my robe as a blanket. And upon waking again around midnight I made dinner and took a bath and turned on my galaxy light and watched two movies. Now it is six in the morning and I suppose I will sleep again. I don’t feel any better than I did when I first opened my eyes today. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll feel different . . .

Also: it’s a shame because I love the solstice. I was asleep for most of it, or else hidden behind blackout curtains. The solstice, by the way, is definitely better than the equinox. I mean, duh . . .

As I sat there in that now lonely room; the fire burning low, in that mild stage when, after its first intensity has warmed the air, it then only glows to be looked at; the evening shades and phantoms gathering round the casements, and peering in upon us silent, solitary twain; the storm booming without in solemn swells; I began to be sensible of strange feelings. I felt a melting in me. No more my splintered heart and maddened hand were turned against the wolfish world.

moby-dick of course