Things to avoid: mirrors, clocks.

For the third time in as many months, the man at the body shop presented my repairs with an understated flourish. “It’s just like you have a brand new car,” he said. And I thought, how many times in life do you get to start over, as if nothing had ever happened?

I feel great sadness over my anger at your continued presence.

If one more subscription card falls out of this magazine, I’m going fucking ballistic.

Work that withholds its methods or motives, or is a result of a process unrelated to the final result, or has a clever title that provokes in the viewer an unexpected reassessment, or which through a brutal economy of means affects a disproportionate response, or is so unapologetically stupid that it makes intelligence, craft or elegance seem frivolous.

With you, I feel like I do with myself. Like nobody.

A man. A plan.
Diazepam.

Bring a little generosity when you look; you might be missing something.