Whenever I see an advertisement cut to a soundtrack of “What a Wonderful World,” I always feel like I’m being sold a great big steaming pile of shit.

We are required to assume the psychological burdens of our economic benefactors.

Life slips through your fingers and comes back together somewhere else. You’re God-intoxicated. Or maybe just intoxicated.

After decades of sensible moderation, I packed it in and began drinking in earnest.

Can you tell me how to get to Sesame Street? Can we go back together, one of you still holding my hand, the other on my shoulder, vanishing around an invisible corner, down a leafy suburban street? I am weeping as I type this. You were Snuffy and I was the Count. The sky was a blue that no longer exists. I want my blue back.

 {German word for missing something before it’s gone}

The part that makes assumptions is the dumbest part of your brain.

Second saddest thing in the world: letting go.

These are the facts. These are the trees. You are the wind.

Thank you for seeing me. I really think I’m un—
raveling.
Unrav—
Unraveling.
Wait—are you actually making fun of my voice?
Your choice of words. A bit maudlin and clichéd.
All words are clichés—that’s why they’re words, for fuck sake. I can’t believe I’m paying you 250 an hour—
And there it is—I wondered how long til you brought it up.

Sorry, can’t stop; I have to push this rock up this mountain.

The world had badly damaged him, or he had damaged himself, or he had damaged the world, or something.