This just in: internet preferable to all previous human endeavor.

He felt uncomfortable with any reminder of his objective existence.

I know where this is going.

I think I can safely say, with great pleasure, your best days are well behind you.

Change is coming, more than your tiny brain can imagine. My one satisfaction is knowing it will take you by surprise.

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

Notes for a series of notes.

Life happened; he never knew what hit him.

They didn’t know it yet, but they’d worn out their welcome before they arrived.

In the dream a doctor told me I was going blind. I ran out into the street, just seeing.
In total, these pictures represent three seconds of my life. Maybe some day you’ll find them. My three seconds. My last will and testament.

The ninth month of the pandemic brought daily, unannounced weeping, an involuntary physical impulse that felt part of some collective global balancing, almost like—
A rice cooker letting off steam?
No, that’s fucking stupid. *Coughs. But maybe.
A volcano? A cat purring?
Plunging your eczematic hands into a bubbling vat of lye?
Yes, yes, that too.

The self-consciously Dad things you attempted to pass on to your family—arbitrary techniques, fetishistic naming of parts and categories, unexamined dictums—mattered less than the unacknowledged resentment, grievance, and rage.

At the time I was working for a local catering company. Two in the morning, five nights a week, sweating out last night’s alcohol in my polyester black and whites bussing dishes to back alley vans. I was on hold. To the world at large I was nobody. Soon enough I’d be nobody to myself.