. . . I chanced to look into the glass. My harassed face struck me as revolting in the extreme, pale, angry, abject, with disheveled hair. “No matter, I am glad of it,” I thought; “I am glad that I shall seem repulsive to her; I like that.”

uh-huh

The deserted street lamps gleamed sullenly in the snowy darkness like torches at a funeral. The snow drifted under my greatcoat, under my coat, under my cravat, and melted there. I did not wrap myself up— all was lost, anyway.

wow dostoevsky that sounds just like my week

it occurred to me today that perhaps one of the reasons i received so many frantic phone calls after i wrote that i shaved my head was because i guess everyone has seen the same movie

some recent dante

yeah without dante i would have pretty much nothing

yeah. that’s zhong kui, the demon killer.

god, dude. utagawa kuniyoshi was the man. his woodblock prints are insane.

i reckon at some point you just have to realize that you’re only ever going to be able to truly relate to / communicate with three or four people (maybe even that number is high), and that most everyone else is a marshmallow-filled burrito whose entire life is like one of those carnival rides where you just sit in a cart and things pop out and try to scare you.

dude. have you ever had someone try to explain burning man to you? holy hell.

one time i was working the door at wolfhound in oakland and this guy in like pre-faded bootcut jeans told me his company had sent him there (to sell things), and he said he did acid for the first time and how spiritual it was and how burning man is about people coming together . . . to, uh, ride around on gigantic tricycles and uh . . . juggle flaming bayonets . . . and i guess that “communicates” something to these poor misguided people’s souls. and i’ll never forget this: he was smoking from a vape pen the entire time. and when he exhaled it smelled like pineapples. i wanted to die so badly.

one cool part about living in oakland was that all the people Who Got It were in total agreement that burning man was a crock of shit.

My grandmother’s neighborhood used to be filled with older people who were visited by their grandchildren. I used to play with those kids when I was younger. It was quiet place in a quiet part of town.

Near as I can tell the denizens of this complex now consist almost entirely of people who exclusively wear sweatpants and chain smoke menthol cigarettes while screaming at their children.

i grew up on this street

i’m not getting scurvy am i

i’ve been eating two to three oranges a day