The primary function of memory is to fuck with your head.

The promise of lawn sprinklers in the sun, that’s all over now.

Because their abject suffering represented an affront to the fragile belief systems of those around them, they were held responsible for their own misfortune.

He spent the entire two-hour mindfulness seminar contemplating the drink he would have after.

The level of stupidity was loosely commensurate to the level of ambition.

All-purpose advice: wire now, detonate later.

Everything is of its time. How glorious; what a pity.

Graphic design: a study of margins.

Posting food on instagram = act of public defecation.

Our moments together were uniformly unpleasant, but I was grateful for every one.

Increasingly, he’d been thinking about simplifying his life.
Increasingly, he’d been thinking about drinking.

Memory will have to suffice.