Once (maybe it was 2009), the dudes at the copy shop in Montrose let me browse through their binder of weird shit customers had printed. It felt like being admitted into a secret world of conspiracy theories and bizarro art, and it’s very existence was clearly a violation of innumerable corporate policies. It’s the closest I’ve ever come touching an eldritch grimoire.

parenting (+) 

I was walking through the woods behind my house and I saw a dead log that had fallen onto a young tree. You could see that the log had started to warp the growth of the tree and so I removed the dead log, and I was thinking that maybe in the future when I and everyone who ever met me is dead, maybe that tree will remember me in whatever way trees remember things. It’s sort of comforting to imagine that the last bit of yourself that will persist is a memory of kindness.

I find myself in the middle of a landlocked state watching two seagulls hunting in a tributary of a tributary of a river you might have heard of. I’m not sure they know how they got here, either.


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