I keep thinking we might be able to reverse-engineer this whole fucking disaster.

Compulsive thinking, fitful sleeping, and endless, endless trips to the bathroom.

In his bewilderment he slept on her side of the bed, with a gun under the pillow.

Over the course of one sunny afternoon a stately ice shelf the size of Connecticut breaks loose and collapses into the ocean. You are dispersing. You have entered the floe.

The word practice—cultivating a veneer of respectability while retaining the frisson of artistic endeavor.

Mistaking scale for importance,
ambition for significance.

I have full confidence in you, said nobody ever, to her.

Do gorillas throw shit in the wild?

 In your selfie face I see only pain.

Drawing: a record of its own making.

In the harmonious spaces and bright clear sunlight of this elegant house, you feel an acute awareness of how coarse and awkward you’ve become. If only the light could pass right through you.

Sunday morning: half dead but fully alive.