who are these people commenting on this blog? how did any (many?) of them know i'd even started posting on it again... worried there are people still using, like, rss feeds. if you are, i just want to know you're okay. if you're an rss feed user and reading this blog, please comment and tell me about your experience using an rss feed in 2018, if you feel like it. i've never used one. they seem bleak in a mysterious way.

i have this zit on my nose. you can't really see it, but i can feel it. i keep putting tea tree oil on it. i don't know what happens when i do that, like, inside my body. is the skin or, um, like, tissue, directly underneath the surface of my nose "inside my body"? yes, but... i'm abandoning whatever is happening here.

i feel like my penis is vibrating right now. okay, it stopped. maybe something seismic was happening in this part of the world i'm in.

i just ended a sentence in a preposition. do they teach that not being okay in schools still? zoe says they teach you how to mail things and write checks in school now. i heard all the kids just watch youtube all day. i don't feel like i'm very youtube savvy. i've never made a playlist, for instance, and i'm only subscribed to a couple of my friends'/acquaintances' channels. is that what they're called? channels? i still don't really understand how people make money from having youtube accounts... i know there are ads on youtube. there are so many websites i feel this way about.

some thoughts i've had:

meditating, i notice my head consistently wants to roll (loll?) back on my neck.

(my penis is vibrating again. i'm going to look at it... it looked normal, but like it was vibrating a bit. strange.)

okay, so the first time i meditated without a guided meditation, like, recording also happening at the same time, my head rolled (lolled) back a lot and i didn't notice, and when i opened my eyes, it was at this really uncomfortable angle and my neck hurt for a while after that, like a few days. um, i think maybe this has to do with the "awe" my brain is experiencing. i don't want to describe it. it's kind of like sleeping. i have to remain somewhat aware of this head/neck thing, though, while i meditate, which i don't think is a bad thing. i think there was something else i wanted to describe under this "some thoughts i've had"... thing... i sit on the floor. i put my hands on my thighs just above my knees. i saw the color purple a bit. i meditated for twenty-one minutes today. i had more thoughts i wanted to type about it, but i forgot, which is fine, and i don't care about having forgotten. also, did they put crappy wifi everywhere so we'd turn off our wifi setting thing on our phone in public places and then forget that we have it turned off when we're at home so we use more data?

my story, "waiting for eternal atake," was rejected by noon annual via a form letter than came in a self-addressed enveloped i'd included with the submission. i received that in the mail today. it's nice to get mail with your own handwriting on the front of it. i should mail stuff to myself sometimes.

damn it, there were other things i wanted to write, but i don't feel like digging through, culling all this shit. i have work early tomorrow. i want to read forty-five or so more pages of 'the last samurai' by helen dewitt, and also work on this story i've been writing.

a thing i want to include in the story i'm writing, in some form:

one thing i've noticed is: say you've got a set of double doors, consisting of two doors. and say you keep one of them permanently locked. what have you got? you've got a door. this is not meant to take a position or even be related to the story. or anything, or otherwise. it's just a thing i've been thinking about. i've done my best. i'm going to keep doing my best.

yeah, italicized, bitch. full effect. no mercy.

i checked out 'the collected stories of diane williams' by diane williams and 'lightning rods' by helen dewitt from the brooklyn public library today. i'd previously had 'long, last, happy' by barry hannah checked out. i'd also had 'raymond carver's what we talk about when we talk about love' by brian evenson checked out from the new york public library.

'the last samurai' is pretty great, though some parts don't seem to really "need" to be read. i still read some of them. i'll finish that book either tomorrow or the day after tomorrow, which is friday.

i want to read all of richard yates's books soon, in order of publication. i wonder if i'll do this before 2019. i've been thinking about wanting to do this for a while. i watched 'the bird with the crystal plumage' last night. it made me think it, like, may have influenced 'blue velvet' in an interesting way. does anyone know if there's anything to support that? i hope to have time to watch 'the cat 'o nine tails' tonight, but if i'm going to do that then i'd better stop fuckinsdglsjdglkjsdglkjsdglkjsdg

(i remember i used to include the year of publication or distribution for books and movies when i first started this blog. maybe when i'm stoned later i can go back and put that stuff in. i think it would make me happier. (i think i could've, and maybe wanted to meditate earlier, but i had a timer set for the cannabis edibles i was making, and i didn't want the alarm to interrupt my meditation. (i had started meditating with twenty-four minutes left on the timer.) i think my being conscious of/concerned with this may have affected the effectiveness of my meditation. i think i want to take a day where i have nothing to do and turn off my phone and other stuff and meditate for as long as i want, without distraction, and with longevity and novelty of experience in mind. (i think it will be harder to achieve this than i think, but seems achievable nonetheless.)))

okay, i'm getting bored of typing stuff like this. it doesn't feel like a waste of time exactly, but will i even want to remember it?

i picked a flower today.


i meditated for twenty minutes.

i mailed a story to diane williams.

it's cold in my apartment right now. the windows are open.

i, um... i'm reading 'essays and fictions' by brad phillips. it's going to be published in january, i think. jordan edited it. i told jordan i trust him yesterday. we had a nice conversation. he's reading near prospect park on november 14. other people reading with him: nicolette polek, megan boyle, marston hefner, christine brache, brad phillips. i hope i can go for free...

other things...

i edited a story for four or five hours today. i felt extremely crazy at one point, while editing it.

i'm running out of soap. i don't want to grocery shop.

was going to maybe snort the rest of my ketamine, but now it doesn't seem as urgent. after meditating, it felt less urgent.

here's something: i wrote "twenty minutes" and "november 14." i'm always tweaking about stuff like that.

i'm in an uncomfortable sitting position.

when it's humid outside, my trackpad is fucked, but when it's not humid, it seems to work fine.

i bought a wireless mouse in may or june to deal with this. i'm not using the wireless mouse right now. the trackpad seems functional.

on saturday, which was five days ago, my rash got a lot worse. now it's gone. i changed sitting positions. i entertained the rash being a product of, like, a spell my sister put on me when she was a child. my sister is a virgo. she used to fuck with me. she's very nice now. we hardly ever talk or see each other.

my cat brushed up against me while i was meditating and it felt erogenous.

i saw a strange, endless seeming, purple plain in my "field of vision" with my eyes closed. it was, like, vast... maybe... the... it wasn't a literal physical space. duh. it had curvature to it. at first it was flat, and then it was like the roundness of the earth, supposedly.

stephen facetimed me and i ignored it, then i accepted it the second time he did it. he told me about a movie called 'the flesh of frankenstein.' it was released in 1973, which is the same year 'the wicker man' was released. the original one, i mean, with christopher lee. i think i've written about how that is my favorite movie.

yesterday was yom kippur and i ate dinner at zoe's parents' apartment. i went to some services with zoe. other people were there. zoe's dad threw a glass in the sink. zoe's mom said something like, "conspiracy theories are just people trying to make sense of something."

talking to stephen, today, which was the following day, not addressing zoe's mom, i said, "so is reality, lady." we laughed.

"lady" seems aggro... i've got some other ideas. one of my ideas was to get extremely stoned on thanksgiving this year. i can't imagine how certain things in my life will unfold.

i'm keeping that stuff to myself for now.

i'm extricating myself from blogging more. this is all i wanted to type about. i could keep typing more, indefinitely, maybe, but i'm going to extricate myself.


i took what i thought would be a large dose of psilocybin mushrooms today.

i woke up at 10:30 a.m. and hadn't decided if i wanted to eat them. i had planned to eat them today, but last night i felt somewhat unhealthy. i had developed what i think is probably a "heat rash" mostly on my stomach, which i couldn't decide if i felt concerned about or not. i meditated for ten minutes and saw the glittery cloud thing. i read the section of michael pollan's 'how to change your mind' re his psilocybin trip. i'd decided to save it to read until this morning, and to let that inform my decision, but actually i'd, like, pretty much decided right after meditating that i would eat the mushrooms. it was like 9:1 odds that i'd eat the mushrooms, i figured, and pollan's experience wasn't that interesting.

i blended what i estimated was an eighth of an ounce of mushrooms with the juice of two lemons and a generous amount of honey from a squeeze bottle. the label on the bottle says: "PENNSYLVANIA / Raw / Mountain / Wildflower / Pure Honey" and other things. i just opened it to squeeze some honey into my mouth, and there were a dozen or so ants running around inside the cap thing. i washed it out and tried to examine if there were ants in the actual honey itself. i guess i have an ant problem, in addition to the cockroach problem. i've been more focused on the cockroach problem. anyway, after i cleaned the ants off the honey cap, i squeezed some honey into my mouth. that felt nice. i looked up at the ceiling and saw an enormous cockroach had found its way into my light fixture. not the kind of cockroach i seem to have problems with, since subletting my apartment to those people, the other kind. the "waterbug" kind of cockroach. i like those ones. i can't tell if it's alive or dead.

i ate a pot edible about eighty minutes ago. um... had some trepidation about typing "eighty"... i wanted to type "80" instead? is that what i'm thinking? i'm not spending my time wisely, thinking, in that case, i think.

the stuff michael pollan covered about psychedelics allowing for more entropy in the brain is cool. from what he wrote about, though, i feel like i probably have more entropy in my brain than the average person, anyway. that said, he qualified depression as not being entropic, but the opposite: very orderly. i thought that was interesting. i'm depressed only some of the time. i've been feeling fine for the past few days... i think. i think that's fair to put out there. "past few days" seems a fair assessment for public consumption. you, reader, being my public. haven't gotten to anything about the trip yet. thanks.

okay. so i drank the mushrooms. wait... here, i'll put in a picture of the only page of notes i took in my notebook, expecting to maybe want to take more notes, or draw or something. but no, mostly i just wasn't moving much and having thoughts. i was listening to the radio. i found the notebook among things i've owned for more years than i can account for, and it felt like good portent. wait! here is the picture:

so i expected to be tripping very hard, but i ended up not tripping as hard as i have in other experiences, which was fine. it was still satisfyingly mystical. there're ants crawling on me right now. i can never decide if it's okay to kill them or not.

i had to pee several times. i drank the rest of the "juice" after about an hour, and then also ate another half a stem and cap. after meat puppets stopped, i listened to part of that experimental jazz cd i like so much, 'drum dance to the motherland' by the khan jamal creative ensemble, but i stopped it because i could hear music playing faintly from the radio in the kitchen. i wanted to keep the radio on in the kitchen, even though i was doing other things in the other room, at some point. and i heard the radio music, and it was so melancholy. it was the most melancholy blues or r&b song. how can you tell if it's blues or r&b? i feel like it's r&b if it's sung by a woman and blues if it's sung by a man, even though i know that's not right. for whatever reason, a man can sing both r&b and blues, but a woman can only sing r&b? no, that's not true... what about billie holiday? that was the blues! i feel better, having cleared that up, but i still don't know if the melancholy song was blues or r&b. i realized i was feeling melancholy along with the song, because of the song, but i felt nice too, because i felt connected to something. i felt "at peace" with that. around this time i had my eyes closed and was having visuals and barely forgot who i was, but then i didn't.

something that happened that i expected would happen, but that i wouldn't know how to tell people why i expected it, exactly, without just being like, "this is part of a ritual of paranoid psychedelic and spiritual submission; i gave myself over to modes of knowledge like this at some point; it doesn't matter," was that my therapist called to set our appointment for our first session since i completed the intake stuff again. the last time i took a proper dose of lsd, the same thing happened, except it was after i'd completed the intake stuff for the first time. that was on april 26, i think. sixteen days after i'd done the intake. this time they called me back eight days after i'd done the intake.

i think they're doing the closest thing to "god's work" at the coney island branch of the jewish board of family and children's services. they really seem to get it. there are a lot of, like, veterans and people missing limbs and with intellectual disabilities in the waiting area, and almost all the services are provided free of charge, i think. maybe you have to have insurance. i want to post this link here, which helped me get affordable mental health services at a very dark time in my life: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1T4sGRq4T1BvUOcBHiI0Ikv5Y07N1zShbUFRBfAv_Kno/edit. and i also want to thank mira for sending it to me. thank you mira.

what else... i was just in the bathroom peeing... but i got up for some reason before that. it was something to do with touching my back, i think. and then, oh yeah! oh, i was thinking i should drink the smallest amount of coffee to ward off this oncoming caffeine-addiction-related headache, but that i've been thinking this for three and a half hours, and now it's almost 9:30 p.m., and i wanted to turn in early tonight, because i made plans to play tennis with john in the morning. just the smallest amount, though... such a small amount... all right, i did it. if that keeps me up past midnight, though... you motherfuckers... just know where to put your shame, that's my advice. shove it!

anyway, my therapist called, as i'd expected she would, and i felt so happy to hear her voice. i didn't say much, just the words, "i'm well—how are you" and "tuesday at eleven is perfect" and "terrific" maybe... maybe some other stuff, but claire seemed to know something was amiss. she seemed determined to get off the phone as quickly as possible. probably she had other calls to make. she probably didn't care enough to question the amissness of whatever was going on with old dave (me). more likely, she didn't think anything was amiss. and if she could tell i was tripping from that brief exchange, that makes me even more excited to be her patient. shouts out to claire, man, i want to make it rain with the appreciation i feel toward her.

and others, sure. (slant rhyme)

normal psychedelic trip stuff was happening, so i left my phone and my wallet in my apartment and walked out to the beach.

as i got closer to the end of my block, where the beach starts, i felt myself, like, entering another world. like in a video game, when you go to some parallel dimension. or like, a new chapter in zelda or something (does zelda have things you could call "chapters"? i don't remember hardly anything about any of those games)... it felt a little like that. except it felt significantly more mystical... like the game 'myst'... and there was a great deal of fog. you could not see forty feet past where the water touched the shore. (that's a clause i use in my story "being gross," by the way: "where the water touched the shore.")

and it was very low tide. the jetties were fully exposed in places i'd never seen before. the sea-flora exposed on them was vividly green. the rocks were a nice charcoal. everything was shimmery, but matte. and i saw a couple standing on the beach and looking into the dense air, and i walked west, where i did not encounter any couples. i saw mostly elderly people, and people seeming utterly alone and not taking issue with that. i saw a man walking a pomeranian. he seemed to make "sexy eyes" with me, but he was so normal looking, and middle-aged, and (frankly, i edited this out initially, but it's accurate, objectively, so fuck it, it's informative, and more importantly, it doesn't speak my level of attraction to him) ugly. maybe he's a freak, though. i hope i'll see him again. i walked toward an elderly woman, maybe seventy-ish years old, sitting on the jetty with a towel wrapped around her, brushing her hair. i believed she was nude underneath the towel, but i didn't look too closely. i felt extremely comforted by her presence, but i also didn't want to disturb or disconcert her, so instead of subtly approaching, hoping, uh, what(?), maybe to talk to her(?), which i felt very drawn to doing, i kept my distance.

i looked at sand. the entire beach was packed hard because of all the rain. i put my feet in the water, and the water and the air were the same temperature, around seventy-five degrees. it felt erogenous, but in a "that's none of my business" type of way. i looked at some of the indentations in the sand, left by the ebbing/flowing tide. many looked like root systems, neural networks. they were so intricate and fractal and natural. (i typed "fractic" instead of "fractal" at first, which i think is an excellent amalgum, actually, of "frantic" and "fractal." take note kids: "fractic" is the new gak. you're gonna be ordering it out of the back of nickelodeon magazine after you hear what lil uzi vert can do with it. and on that note: uzi (or his management, or whatever), if you're reading this, email dfishkind@gmail.com for rights to the word "fractic." (i'm copping megan boyle's style right now, aren't i? shouts out to you too, megan.)) this is when i felt some pang of regret for not bringing my phone, because i wanted to take a picture of the sand, and the fog, and the slime and green on the rocks, but then i felt good. because it was for me, then, unmediated, and without the pressure to document it in a way where it wouldn't look like what i thought it did anyway. i didn't want an objective, or worse yet, a corporatized (via apple), account of what was going on... so i was happy i didn't have my phone, by way of justifying that i didn't need to use its camera, even though i wished i could, somewhat, while knowing if i ran back to my apartment to get it, i'd be destroying the actual awe-inspiring stuff i was seeing... something about trying to commodify them... thoughts can run like this forever.

so i knew this was happening alone, and i was okay with that. it felt appropriate, and i felt increasingly willing to indulge that... (that sentence was getting away from me, so i ellipsed its ass.) i sat on the jetty and climbed out further, but i was wearing adidas slides and they were slipping on the wetness of the rocks and the sea-flora and the mollusks and barnacles clinging to everything. i sat for a while staring into the gray. it rained a little bit. i got off the rocks.

i walked farther west, and i watched people going in an out of the water. each person seemed drawn, almost religiously into the bay. the surf in coney island is almost nonexistent, so it's like a big tub. like a bathhouse thing. and i saw an elderly woman coming out of the water. and, past the next jetty, i saw a young man wearing plaid boxers going into the water. he was, like, appearing to "cleanse" himself. i wanted to go in the water too, so i walked past the next jetty and took off all my clothes except my underwear and left them on a rock. i went in the water. i stepped on trash and broken shells and stuff. the water was in the air, the atmosphere and the water, it all seemed like one contiguous entity. and i felt emotional.

i was having all kinds of thoughts, reader. i haven't told you about a lot of it. i was having my private thoughts, and i was in the water emotional. and i got in so it covered all of my body, and then i quickly got out. in retrospect i wish i'd relaxed more and floated around, but i felt a bit nervous about going out too far. i'll admit it. i was worried i might drown myself, folks. accidentally, i mean. or maybe it would've seemed like a good idea. i wasn't feeling desperate or bad, that's not what i mean. i felt very calm while the water was over my head. and i put my clothes back on and walked home. it was on this walk, eastward, that i saw the man with the pomeranian. actually my shirt was off still, and my hair was very wet. that's what influenced me to think he was making "sexy eyes" at me. i supposed, given [whatever], i looked very sexy.

in my apartment, i hadn't received any texts or notifications. i've been leaving my phone on "do not disturb" more often, and letting it dictate my decisions and interests less, maybe minisculely so, but so, even so, you know? and i also discovered i'd only been outside for forty-nine minutes. it had felt longer. there was just a lot weight to how it felt out there. i was seeing birds fly around and stuff. at one point, before i got to the beach, i stopped to observe some flowers, but then i had to stop myself from standing in one place, intently staring at a flower, because there was a cool young guy with a nice car doing things in his car and with a style of "being," like it'd be better if i gave him the privacy to do whatever he needed to do in his car.

i mentioned the birds. can i tell you about these birds? they were seagulls. they looked very great.

i showered for a long time. i picked at some of the grime and mold on the shower walls. i thought about spending some of my trip intently cleaning my shower, and i weighed the pros and cons of that, and there seemed to be a lot of pros, but i talked myself out of it. in any case, after the shower, i didn't feel like i was "tripping" anymore. i lay on my bed and had thoughts and felt that it was special and okay to exist, despite [something more precise re "all the limitations"].

i feel so many limitations. on what i can give, on what i can receive. even when i think in, like, terms of infiniteness, i know i cannot give and receive without limitation. i know that i have to work within my own limitations. it's okay. there's no limit to the amount of "feeling" you can experience, though, i think. i think you can "feel" into eternity, which is nice, even just as a thought. i'm glad about that.

i read some more of the michael pollan book. i want to go cook dinner, but i also wanted to maybe paste something i texted my mother... i wanted to paste that in here earlier, before i started writing this, because i wanted to be able to look at it later, easily accessible, but now i don't know. i need to look at what i was going to say. also i'm going to preheat the oven because it's 10:00 p.m. and i haven't started preparing dinner...

ok here's the thing i was going to paste here: "well, yeah. i'm just so weird and interior lately. the past couple years. and i feel like my ability to aptly, healthily socialize comes and goes. maybe this is part of bipolar, i'm starting regular sessions with my therapist again next week. but i just want you to know, i feel so lucky that you're my mom. there couldn't be a better mom, you're an awesome person. and i wanted to tell you how much i love you, so i texted"

it's good to love your mom, man. i'm worried this looks like i'm bragging, but... nah, this blog is for me. i want to be able to know that on this day, september 12, 2018, i went out of my way to shout out my mom, straight to her, via our phones... i'm bragging. i love my mom. that's that.

is that rain what i'm hearing?

the thesis of this blog post is: the dose of mushrooms wasn't as strong as i expected.

and, uh, i think i have nothing else i want to include. i'm feeling dehydrated. that's a fixable problem that i can go ahead and fix, and thus i will, imminently, after finishing typing this, and then pressing the "publish" button... going to do that, i guess... should i? okay, i'm going to now. okay.


stuff looked like 'blade runner' again last night, walking around soho after seeing 'suspiria.'

i felt like i understood 'suspiria' in a way i never had, seeing it at ifc center, despite having seen it at least five times before. i think this had something to do with the sound and image quality being much better in a theater. i'd never felt that either was very sharp, but i'd also never really thought about it, because i'd had nothing to compare it to. i'd previously exclusively seen the movie by streaming it on my laptop or casting a stream from my laptop to my tv.

i went to therapy today, which was okay. it was an intake session because my case closed when i was traveling this summer. i spent too much time away from therapy, so they thought i didn't want it anymore, but they were wrong. i had a great summer. now i'm depressed, but i don't think the two are related. i think it's all chemicals. and i wanted to tell the guy that the best therapy for me is probably driving around constantly with a destination in mind, but not caring about the destination at all, just continuing to move somewhere else. the guy wasn't my regular therapist, whose name is claire. he assured me that after this intake thing, i'd get to see claire again. i really like her. i felt an immediate connection and mutual understanding between us when i first spoke with her in april.

april 10, 2018 was three days after the closest i've ever come to suicide stuff. oh well. i told the guy today that i feel more capable of understanding my suicidal ideations as temporary. i was diagnosed with bipolar disorder in 2017, and again in 2018, by two separate people. i told the guy i felt "lucky" to have it, because i get to experience a broader spectrum of emotions, which helps inform me of, like, how life works... the complexities of it, i don't know... and that i'm able to be extremely productive and creative during manic episodes. whatever, um...

last night i cried and felt upset, after feeling good after the movie. i ate a half-edible before the movie, and it was the perfect amount of getting stoned, because it enhanced my engagement without becoming distracting in the amount of stoned i was. sometimes i challenge myself to get "too stoned." it's almost never unpleasant, i just sort of black out and can't walk, and maybe vibrate a little in bed, but i like that stuff, because it's so different from the way i am 99% of the time. it's just interesting to feel a lot. this is similar to bipolar things, maybe.

my scalp has been itchy since yesterday. i think it's to do with sweat, maybe. it was itchy in the movie theater, and i felt itchy all over my body like there were little bugs on me. i always think there are on bugs on me during virgo season, for the past three virgo seasons. and it's possible more virgo seasons than that, but those are the only ones i can remember, because i didn't try to be aware of this stuff before then. the virgo season before these, in 2015, i decided i didn't care about [unsure exactly what... but it doesn't really matter, just a lot of things i had cared about up to that point, more or less] anymore and did heroin with my friend david, and he died a week later from heroin overdose. in 2016, i became convinced i had a bed bug infestation, though there were no signs or evidence of this being the case. i made stuff up on purpose, to distract and delude myself, i suppose, and i didn't sleep more than three hours a night for several weeks because of this. last year, i was convinced i had ringworm, even though i didn't have it. i brought my cat to the vet and stuff. there was also a brief period when i thought i might have bed bugs during that time, too, for whatever reason. i've never had sex with a virgo.

i'm itchy, but i feel sane. i feel able to fend off stuff in different ways. i think not getting drunk as often forces me to face my problems more "head-on," rather than flush them out every night until i can't see as well and am on a destructive warpath of emotion. alcohol elicited a kind of meanness in me that i don't experience without alcohol, i feel. i think i'm nicer and more rational now, but i might be wrong. i got into a sad argument-type thing late last night. i tried to be forward and open and transparent, but... i don't know. i filmed myself floss-dancing today. what will i do?

i listened to meat puppets and nirvana and the clash this morning. i listened to salem on the train last night. i listened to "sowing season (yeah)" by brand new. i, um... i took a picture of a treble clef that was turned partially into a heart shape with cyrillic text underneath it printed on the back window of a bus for old folks, i think, with the parachute drop and parts of surf avenue reflecting in shades of black on the glass. i keep checking myself for bugs.

i'm supposed to play tennis tomorrow. i hope i do. i am aware of somewhat "copping" megan boyle's style of writing right now, having just finished reading 'liveblog' minutes ago. also thinking about when she talks about how she is copping tao's style of writing, in a period during/after reading 'taipei.' hehe. i felt emotional and got "chills" reading the final page. that book is a force. 'liveblog,' i mean. 'taipei' is too, but i'm not focusing on 'taipei' right now, i was only referring to it because it was referred to in 'liveblog.' dang. megan is such a wonderful writer/artist/person. i've felt so good the past several times i've gotten to see her. such fortune knowing her. i want everyone who is reading this to buy and read her novel, when it's "officially published" later this month by new york tyrant, but i feel fairly confident anyone reading this was already going to do that. this also just seems like how i remember i was blogging in the fall and winter of last year/earlier this year, but i haven't gone back to read those entries, so i can't be sure.

there's an email in my inbox, i can see the alert in my tabs. i'm going to go read it, maybe.


miserable in the morning. miserable in the afternoon. the kitchen smells like cat pee from the people who subletted my apartment in the summer. there isn't a way to stay better, if certain conditions cause you to feel bad for long periods of time, apropos of nothing, which is fine. i'm listening to daniel johnston.

i have felt very bad for weeks. i'm crying. i was feeling bad while i was trying to sleep in ohio, which was three weeks ago almost, and also before that. i took acid with conor and walked around in the rain. stuff looked like a video game or, like, um... that... um... 'blade runner.'

i watched half of 'bitter lake' the other night before going to sleep. i spent seven days in bed. 89% humidity. wanted to type that as "eighty-nine percent." i don't know. i want to drink an egg cream, maybe. i want it to be colder outside. i can be more alone. i know there are people who care about me. there might be fewer if i continue to be this way, but, like... it feels fake to deny the way i am, or something. not fake, but... i know if i just allow myself to feel this way, i'll feel better later. i'm used to feeling this way for half the year, maybe more. i think the, um, highs and lows last longer and more intensely than they used to. i felt like i rode a high for two straight months, between may and july somewhere. i felt really good and capable. i don't care.

i want to go to that other coffee place. i don't even want cool clothes anymore, which is a little distressing. why don't i want cool clothes? i want to go to that coffee place that was in the new york times and sit on the steps on the church across the street and be in the sun, and to be wearing a jacket because it's 58 degrees (fifty-eight) but pleasant. i...

three people flaked on playing tennis with me this week. we made plans, and they cancelled, day-of, three times, without seeming to care about how much i'd actually tried to make an effort to... i don't trust people. i don't trust the people i love or the people who love me. conor is "into sex" now. i want, like, to protect him from that. i have hated giving myself over to people, letting them know me. it doesn't feel fair. when other people have parts of you, you're not as much of yourself. is that true? seems extremely dramatic and destructive to think like that.

and, um, last night i watched old videos i made. i used to make a lot of videos. people don't give enough credit to how much art came out of the "scene" i was likely, and i guess fairly, considered somewhat a part of. like most of it was very shitty and indulgent and stuff, but also people were just constantly filming themselves, constantly writing, documenting their lives way past the extent most other artists ever try or even pretend to care to. in retrospect, it was one of the most inspiring times in my life. i'm reading 'liveblog' by megan boyle. it's beautiful. it reminds me of some of that stuff. i remember coming home late at night drunk and making videos and writing poems. it came out of, like, pure heart.

i'm typing "like" a lot. i'm unhappy. my keyboard is doing the thing where it glitches a lot because of the humidity. my wireless mouse is in the trunk of my car outside. i can't believe someone flaked on tennis again. i feel actually crushed. very hurt in my core. i don't want to put in an effort and not be met halfway. i feel like probably my friend thinks that about me. i'm guilty of stuff.

thought about suicide a bit while crying and listening to daniel johnston. going to stop typing soon because of keyboard issues. doesn't feel worth it. college was fun. people are going to come into and go out of your life and make it more complex, but being alone sucks too. there isn't a solution. there's an alarm going off in the other room. it's been going off for several minutes and i'm not doing anything. it's like stupid 8-bit music... i wrote a story called "waiting for eternal atake" for zoe. at first i typed "for nori." i should write a story for nori.

what are all the people you used to know doing? it's been almost five months since i've had alcohol. i'm going to try to see 'suspiria' tonight in manhattan. if i don't make it, that's fine, but i should try. i'm holding myself accountable to [something/nothing] here.

blog sucks. this is probably the worst post. it's labor day. two ripe avocados in the green bowl. the subletters neglected treating the green bowl like it "deserves." it will take a long time before this apartment feels like i want it to again.


only took me a couple months to take my own advice. that's not bad, imho


i wanna leave you all with some parting words for a bit. i don't want the last thing i blogged to be sitting up there like it's how my life feels, because, though it's all true, it's not how my life feels, not overall, or in general, or right now, a day later

this is my fiftieth post, which is great. i'm glad to have worked through some stuff here on this blog, and i'm glad to have shared it with people, and i hope to come back here one day, feeling ready to share with people again

in an email, recently, i wrote, "i have a bad thing where my baseline is that i feel like people are out to get me, and so i'm paranoid and scared most of the time, and sometimes that manifests as dismissiveness or meanness, and i'm sorry if i've ever made you feel bad or weird because of that"—i want the world to know about that, i guess. it applies to the world

i'm not this miserable person i affect. this person was constructed and conditioned, by me and my environment. i can be a lot of different people, and i've been choosing to be miserable, so maybe now i'll choose to be happy

i think part of my unhappiness is due to a negative feedback loop that social media and society encourages. i feel aversion toward so many people, and it's not something i'm proud of. there are solutions to this, obviously. i'm going to try to seek them out, in different ways, i guess. i know about the thing where if you do the same thing multiple times, you set yourself up for the same results multiple times. i know about it, but i don't think about it enough. now that i've typed about it, here, i feel held accountable, by myself, which is good, since i'm the only person i really "need" to hang around with

i've screamed on the beach and listened to "positively 4th street" by bob dylan. i've let people rule the way i live my life, out of love, and hate and laziness and fear. my thoughts are the only thing i'm certain i have. it's like that adage, or idea, about how jews became such an educated people. because people can take everything away from you except what you hold in your head and your heart. i'm jewish. i don't want the world, but i get it. it's not like i can leave it and come back later. so i'll chill out here for a while

also i might start putting sugar in my coffee. because fuck it, i bet it tastes good


i think i meant to blog a few times, but i didn't. things have felt stable, mostly. i bought new sneakers. they're asics but look, like, cool, i guess. i've been wearing this thermal i bought upstate every day for a lot of days in a row

on friday, which was three days ago, i went to the lynne tillman book launch at the new museum. i talked with tao about 9/11, the singularity, mary robison, how to consume ketamine, how some artists stay relevant over the course of decades but most don't, how dck is bad for your gut, probiotics, raw eggs, etc. john waters was there. so was andrew durbin, and i also saw him the following night at china chalet. (i was a little dismissive of him on friday, because i felt overwhelmed, but on saturday, we had a nice time chit-chatting, i felt.) i talked to yuka a little bit, and mentioned my novel. she was talking about how lucy's novel needed to come out quickly, because it was relevant to the current moment or something, and i mentioned how since i wrote my novel, a deli that had existed on bushwick avenue, by montrose avenue, which i reference throughout the manuscript, changed its name, after like at least five years, though i think it was several more than that, of having the same name. i wondered if that was a faux pas, as she is one of the people my agent emailed the novel to, though i don't think she's read it yet

after the lynne tillman thing, i sat with emma and conor at beverly's and talked about how, for all intents and purposes, straight men do a thing where they're attracted to their female friends, and how some men are able to discuss that openly and directly, and other men make it a thing where they try to avoid acknowledging it, and then will suddenly make a move, after a long period of exclusive platonic-only interactions. i've done both of these things, and have hoped to move closer to being more direct, and also direct with myself in such a way that i can address and question this stuff on my own, coming to the best conclusion about how to keep friendships and romances appropriately separated, without making anyone uncomfortable... generally people just gravitate toward people they're attracted to, i think. but knowing how a relationship would work, how one might jeopardize a good friendship for a probably not ideal sexual encounter, how to let people in on what you're thinking and feeling, has helped me feel more relaxed, and better in general about interacting with people, specifically women

most men i feel like i can't stand to be around. and also just anyone who views relationships (the broader term, not referring to romantic) as transactional, or like, a form of social capital. all the time i find myself in a situation where it seems like someone "wants" "something" out of whatever exchange we're engaging in. like how can they leverage this exchange for future exchanges, and if we interact enough, does that qualify as friendship, and then how can my friendship benefit them... i can't be around people like that, and it seems like that's how so many young art-adjacent people view socializing, and that's why i hardly ever make new friends, and that's perfectly all right with me

another thing is, like, people who want their conversation to be a back and forth thing where nobody says what they're thinking or what they mean or why they're doing it like that. essentially "mind games," where the goal is to one-up one another, in order to, what? flirt? judge character? see how clever and funny one can convince someone else they are? i feel like i did do a lot of that when i was dating, in 2015-2016, and then realized it was so depressing, devastatingly manipulative and avoidant. since then, i've tried to focus on being forward, putting everything on the table, exercising a certain amount of "safe" vulnerability... a lot of folks seem extremely put off by this, and i think that's sad, but it's also a good litmus test for the type of people i want to be around. ultimately, it's kind of easy to find people who share my ideology and interests, because there are so few of them, weeding the fakes out is a breeze

also, an easy way to go about this without using any energy or thought, too, is to remember that if someone is living in ridgewood, and moved there within the past two years, they're probably one of the fakes

also, if you're reading this and you don't like me or what i've written, does that mean, as you continue to read through it, that you're indulging in negativity? and then, you might ask yourself, does this indulging in negativity somehow, like, "get you off" or enliven your spirit? if so, i think it would be good of you to change that, and to avoid this blog. i do stuff like that too sometimes, but you're worse than me, because this is so many more words than i'd ever look through to hate on someone

on saturday, i went to nada, which was very disappointing overall. i took notes on enjoying the work of four artists: jake manning (dream-like, representational, funny paintings, represented by rental gallery), zach martin (furniture made of stone and wicker and other things, represented by fisher parrish), alexandra bell (mike brown nytimes erasure piece, represented by recess gallery), brian kokoska (garfield and other funny sculptures and paintings in a carpeted kitchen-like space install, represented by l'inconnue). i also liked molly soda's install in the 315 gallery booth. i didn't take notes on this, because i remembered it on my own, and i know molly, or, i guess, maybe more accurately, "knew" her, or also, i don't know, we just haven't talked in a year. but i didn't, like, discover her work at nada. the other people's work i discovered

conor and zoe went to nada with me. there were lots of people who looked like they'd dressed up for the occasion. i just remembered there was someone else's work i also liked. some woman who did a, like, sort of stand-up video piece, but maybe i didn't like it all that much, because i didn't finish watching it or write anything down. i saw her, i think, later that night, at china chalet. after nada, zoe left, and conor and i went to gavin brown in the lower east side for jacolby satterwhite's opening. i really enjoyed the video, a lot more than the gift-shop-type space. i think the video is proof of a massive step forward in jacolby's work. it's not all that different from previous stuff, like the stuff i saw at the whitney a few years ago, but for some reason it feels more sure of itself, more cohesive, more centered, better animation, not like there's a narrative, but like there's a pulse, and a heart, holding everything together. it brought me joy, watching the video, and thinking about my brief interactions with jacolby in 2013 and 2014, and seeing where his career has taken him. i recommend the show to anyone reading this blog, even the haters

zachary and willis met conor and i at the opening, and then we ate a little at the punjabi deli on first street (at least i think that's first street). i had a small plate, with chickpeas and okra and other things over rice. then we went to weatherhead's book launch at parkside lounge for his new poetry collection 'todd.' at some point, i'd become convinced i had a fever, and made several people touch my forehead with the backs of their hands, and nobody could decide whether i felt warm or not, but eventually i started feeling better. i don't think i've typed about 'todd' much, but the book really makes me happy. i read it on march 1, sitting cab in a truck, while at work. i'd read most of the poems before, but i enjoyed reading it all together, and thinking about it as a series of, like, art projects/experiments. the final poem, which is a kind of collage, using lines from blurbs found on books in andrew's room, is astounding. i'll paste some of what i posted on facebook about it: "one of the weirdest, most exciting and inspiring collections of art and poetry i've ever encountered. when i was reading it, i felt transported to new patterns and modes of thought, blips of revelation, places i never would've traversed on my own. andrew's perspective is unique and remarkable, funny and poignant and rare. i'm glad we're friends." i know that's vague, but, like, i don't know what to write about the book other than that... it was surprising and satisfying. sort of blew my mind, and made me excited to think about weatherhead making art that way

at the parkside lounge, i took some mdma, and then conor and lily and i took a cab to china chalet. i used to go there a lot in 2015-2016, and i only went once in 2017 and didn't have a good time. i had a good time this time around, but was accosted by someone when she found out i had ketamine, which i was willing to share with my close friends, but not her, a person i've met a handful of times, who i have essentially no relationship with. i have no problem with her, but the following morning, she subtweeted me about our interaction, and i feel like i'll use this space here, on my blog, to address some of the inaccuracies and frustrations this tweet begot

so the tweet reads: "I had the misfortune of conversing w a like 22 yr old dude on uppers who titled his book 'cool girls hate their bodies' at china chalet ln"

first, i think "conversing" is such a generous term for when someone asks you for drugs and you say no. i think i'm entitled to simply not give someone something that belongs to me, and that i paid good money for, without creating a "misfortune" for her, but whatever. moving on. i'm not 22, i'm 27, and this woman is 30, so it feels a little bleak that she's doing the thing where our slight age difference is used against me somehow, though i will say, i'm happy to be in my late-twenties, and not my thirties. makes me feel a bit less stressed out, so i'm not particularly irked by that. also, i don't have a "book" i have a novel manuscript, which i've been shopping around for over five months, and which may never be published, i've come to terms with. so, it's very flattering to say i've written a book, but it's not accurate. finally, the title 'cool girls hate their bodies' is not current. that has not been the working title in quite some time, and it's not the title my agent is selling the novel under. in any case, i know that the person who tweeted this was only doing it because she was hurting about something else that has to do with a friend of mine, who had a short-lived romantic thing with her, and then decided he didn't want to do that anymore, and i know what it's like to hurt and to feel like lashing out at people online is the solution, and so, ultimately, i just want the best for this person. i hope she is able to feel better and not feel like she has to get upset when someone doesn't give her drugs, but gives other people drugs, because he has different relationships with those people

juliana huxtable djed from one a.m. until after three a.m. she did a great job, and i danced for maybe an hour, which felt nice. i hadn't danced to music i like in club in a long time, and it felt a little stilted at first, but i was able to let go and enjoy it, and mostly the experience was nostalgia-driven. daylight savings time started on sunday morning, when the clocks went from 1:59 to 3:00, and so, in a way, it was supposed to be the shortest china chalet ever, but then they didn't kick everyone out at three, so i was sort of bummed by that. i took the n-train home and took a shower around five a.m., and went to sleep shortly thereafter

yesterday, which was sunday, i met up with katie and we talked about all the stuff i just typed about at b&h dairy on second avenue, over coffee and potato pancakes and pierogis and matzah ball soup and challah and a stuffed cabbage. we walked to east village books and through tompkins square park and sat for a while in hamilton fish park. we went to reena spaulings and looked at the amelie von wulffen show, which i loved. i'd seen pictures on instagram and felt no interest, but in person the show was very satisfying. katie and i got little comic books the artist had written and illustrated titled 'the boulders.' i drove katie to prospect heights and dropped her off at the sheila heti/chris kraus reading/talk. i felt endeared to her, and in general. we're going to see bunny rogers and precious okoyomon read tomorrow, and to eat at spain, i hope

driving east on the belt parkway, on my way home last night, i saw a cluster of bats, flapping wildly, flying along the water separating brooklyn from staten island, low on the horizon, which was milky twilight, blue and yellow


my grandpa died before i could go see him. originally i typed "go and see him." i like that kind of colloquial speech, but i suppose it has no place in writing, even in blogging, i feel

he died on saturday, which was four days ago. my dad said my grandpa didn't take any pain medication. he went relatively quickly, due to kidney failure. from the time he got the flu until he died was eight days, i think

i drove to see my parents. their house is different. a realtor has prepared it for selling. a lot of its charm is gone, though my parents don't have a particularly keen eye for design

my dad said when his mom died last year, she was administered doses of fentanyl to deal with the pain

david and andrew both died, in 2015 and 2017, respectively, having ingested fentanyl, unwittingly. david thought it was heroin. andrew thought it was xanax

my parents gave me a lamp that had belonged to my grandpa. a client had sent it to him, i think. in 2016, my dad and i went to florida and moved my grandpa out of the house he'd lived in for thirty-ish years. it was a mess, utterly disgusting. we filled an enormous dumpster with trash, and it rained on the trash, because we were in sarasota in august. i was ill at health and breathed in a lot of unideal particles. we also gave a lot of stuff to goodwill, and had a salvation army truck come take other things, and then we also filled a storage unit with so much stuff that my grandpa claimed to want to keep, when my dad went back to open it the next day, items had, like, shifted, and he couldn't get the door to open

my grandpa also left a powder blue toyota camry in florida when he moved in with my parents. when his ex-wife, my grandma, died last year, my cousin, who'd graduated from college the day before, knowing she was going to die soon, and wanting to get to the nursing home (or did she die in a separate hospital) before she went, drove recklessly from massachusetts to connecticut, totaling his car in the process. later, he went to florida to get the camry as a replacement vehicle

my grandpa was still working when he got the flu, almost two weeks ago. he was a tax consultant, so i can't help thinking about all the people whose taxes he hadn't finished. they're going to be not feeling great, probably. that's got to be a confusing state to be in, and an extremely rare predicament... your private tax consultant dies in late february, having not filed your taxes... it's uncanny. but i guess that's what you get for employing an ailing eighty-seven year old man

in 2008, my grandpa and i drove to nova scotia together. he wanted to go alone, i think. he often traveled alone, to nature spots like that, to take photos and enjoy himself. he couldn't do the drive, though. his back wasn't good, and visibility in an unfamiliar place, over the steering, for instance, posed a basically deadly peril. so i went with him. we were gone for ten or so days, and we shared a few hotel rooms during that time. mostly we had separate rooms, but when we didn't, i saw him with his shirt off, and listened to him breathe and snore. it was uncomfortable, but i feel grateful anyway. we ate lobsters that weren't that good. it was august, also, then, and cold and a little rainy. i remember being in a barn-like restaurant, staying at a bed and breakfast in a very rural area. that was fun. i tried keeping a journal, i'd just recently fallen in love. there were mosquitoes at one of the lighthouses my grandpa wanted to photograph, and they got in the car just in the time he opened the doors. he couldn't get any pictures, there were just so many mosquitos. i was not discouraged from drinking beer, even though i was seventeen years old. i remember drinking a white russian, alone in a hotel lounge one night, kind of late, for some reason. we enjoyed listening to django reinhardt music together, and he hated the animal collective and radiohead stuff i played. most days were just spent driving. the roads were hardly highways. it just took a long time to get from one place to the next. on these drives, my grandpa talked a little about his time as a merchant marine. he mentioned a girl he'd met somewhere in south america along the coast, or whatever, and that the next time they were in port there, several months later, they met up and she was pregnant, and insisted it wasn't his, but he didn't seem so sure. he talked about how impregnating my grandma when she was nineteen and he was in his early twenties set his life off course and he couldn't become a journalist. one timeh he asked me to get him something out of his suitcase and i found a thing of condoms and viagra. it was funny to imagine how he possibly thought those things would come in handy, but i guess he figured it was better to be prepared

it seems my dad still uses condoms when he has sex with my mom. i remember finding used ones under the bed, even as old as i was a teenager. just on this past trip, i saw an opened wrapper at the top of a trashcan, just as it appears in a scene in my novel. but my mom can't get pregnant now. and they could've used other birth control methods, after almost forty years of marriage, why stick to the most uncomfortable (and now, menopause-ally obsolete) one? i have some theories as to why, but i don't care to type about them here

my grandpa married three times, and he owned many cats and dogs and birds over the years. i was at his house a couple times around the early 2000s. there was an unfriendly dog on the street when i tried out my skateboard in some december in the late nineties. there were alligators, and he lived in a swamp-like environment. he took my sister and i to busch gardens. there's a picture of me with a yellow boa constrictor draped around my neck somewhere, if memory serves

he was pretty reserved and opinionated and very bright. he never lost his faculties. i always felt like i understood him. i never felt like i had to investigate why he was so isolated for so long. when i told my dad this, he seemed surprised. he said he asked himself a lot of questions about that kind of thing