i can’t tell you how i knew—but i did know that i had crossed the border. everything i loved was lost but no aorta could report regret. a sun of rubber was convulsed and set; and blood-black nothingness began to spin a system of cells interlinked within cells interlinked within cells interlinked within one stem. and dreadfully distinct against the dark, a tall white fountain played.

for almost sixteen years, dante woke me up every day of my life. i would give anything to feel him lying on top of me and gently pawing at my face again. my life is so empty without dante. i cry for him every night. i still don’t know how to live without him

beyond that orchard through a kind of smoke / i glimpsed a tall white fountain—and awoke

Tonight I had a thought that bummed me out, which is that in most of my relationships of the romantic kind, I knew right at the beginning it was doomed and would end in sadness, but I went towards that end anyway. How bleak! I wonder what that all means. At any rate, I gotta knock it off. That’s no way to live!

Anyway, here’s big-ass-chinned George Clooney laying down a sick burn in OUT OF SIGHT (1998):

I have a new plug. She’s great. I went to her house yesterday to pick up a couple of things and I met her cats. Then I walked two and a half miles home as the sun set. It rained a little but it was warm out and so I walked under it. As usual, I took some pictures:

More than anything else in life, all I want to do is ride bicycles at night with a cute girl. I don’t think that’s asking too much!

Here’s some evergreen advice from Glengarry Glen Ross that you can essentially apply to any situation in your life:

I finally found the glasses Marcello Mastroianni wears in 8½ . . . or anyway they’re similar enough. Hopefully I can pull them off!!!

For reasons I won’t get into right now, this is more or less what I have been doing lately:

Here’s a beat-up fellow Ryan pointing a gun at some scumbag in ONLY GOD FORGIVES (2013):

My ceiling on any given night:

Finally, here’s my greaseball clown ass stoned to the bone and watching COP (1988) last night:

Well . . . so long for now! ☆彡

I was a good Christian; born and bred in the bosom of the infallible Presbyterian Church. How then could I unite with this wild idolator in worshipping his piece of wood? But what is worship? thought I. Do you suppose now, Ishmael, that the magnanimous God of heaven and earth—pagans and all included—can possibly be jealous of an insignificant bit of black wood? Impossible! But what is worship?—to do the will of God—THAT is worship. And what is the will of God?—to do to my fellow man what I would have my fellow man to do to me—THAT is the will of God. Now, Queequeg is my fellow man. And what do I wish that this Queequeg would do to me? Why, unite with me in my particular Presbyterian form of worship. Consequently, I must then unite with him in his; ergo, I must turn idolator. So I kindled the shavings; helped prop up the innocent little idol; offered him burnt biscuit with Queequeg; salamed before him twice or thrice; kissed his nose; and that done, we undressed and went to bed, at peace with our own consciences and all the world. But we did not go to sleep without some little chat.

How it is I know not; but there is no place like a bed for confidential disclosures between friends. Man and wife, they say, there open the very bottom of their souls to each other; and some old couples often lie and chat over old times till nearly morning. Thus, then, in our hearts’ honeymoon, lay I and Queequeg—a cosy, loving pair.

moby-dick of course

man! it always blows my mind that this book was written 173 years ago