this week i

typed (5MB) into office e-mail, saw last two keystrokes flip to sunglasses face emoji.  i biked rock creek, killed one saved other monday march fourth


how much could you like this city?  you keep leaving // i spend more time here than anywhere else

sacrifice for the convenience but it's unnatural not to coexist with at least one other species: a hermit crab or a not mexican cuisinefish at easiest

drew the mount rushmore of gangsters.  these men unworthy of, uninterested in redemption


wrote a poem for ya.  we attended aizuri quartet in the belly of charles lang freer's collection of faience anubis, nile crocodile tile

i've never seen in the same room
peter thiel and senator thune

watched moonstruck. cher deserved, won academy award. tears in my eyes for rambo: first blood. like nicholson, cage and stallone zero versatility

la luna brings the woman to the man, capiche? [accordian music]

why are you here?
i don't want to talk about it
just like your father
you love him, loretta?
ma, i love him something awful

hiked snickersville


the blaze is over here, motherfucker

looks like a nuclear winter out here // there's probably some prepper who will want your cargo pants.  they'll see your shirt is already trashed, so they won't mind shooting you through the chest. good thing they want your pants not your shirt, cuz that would be a much more painful way to die

anthony has 31 teeth because he played too much hockey

read the plague by albert camus.  dr. bernard rieux concludes revealing himself narrator, this woven tale holds more beauty told omnisciently

but really, doctor, it's the porter's headache, isn't it?

the tobacconist's gossip..a young commercial employee had killed an algerian on a beach

nevertheless, that night, the official communique was still optimistic

'yes,' the prefect replied.  'i've seen the statistics and, as you say, they're most perturbing'

alone under the vast indifference of the sky

it is forbidden to spit on cats in plague-time

 god did not exist, since otherwise there would be no need for priests

saintliness is an aggregate of habits

the buboes refused to burst

only, i've never managed to get used to seeing people die

dying and being doomed to unending separation

the stridence of 'st james' infirmary' coming from a loud-speaker just above their heads

the plague launched its most virulent attacks on those who lived, by choice or by necessity, in groups; soldiers, prisoners, monks, and nuns..the warders died of plague in the same proportion as the prisoners

oran seemed a huge necropolis

lightning funerals

nothing is less sensational then pestilence, and by reason of their very duration great misfortunes are monotonous

and luck is not to be coerced

whenever any of them spoke through the mask the muslin bulged and grew moist over the lips.  this gave a sort of unreality to the conversation; it was like a colloquy of statues

weariness is a kind of madness

no, father, i've a very different idea of love.  and until my dying day i shall refuse to love a scheme of things in which children are put to torture

salvation's much too big a word for me.  i don't aim so high

'what does it matter?  what i hate is death and disease - as you well know.  and whether you wish it or not, we're allies, facing them and fighting them together.'  rieux was still holding paneloux's hand.  'so you see' - but he refrained from meeting the priest's eyes - 'god himself can't part us now'

the monks at cairo who, when plague was raging in the town, distributed the host with pincers at the mass, so as to avoid contact with wet, warm mouths in which infection might be latent

on his return home tarrou wrote out an account of this peculiar incident, following it up with a 'feeling very tired tonight' - which is confirmed by his handwriting in this entry.  he added that he had still much to do, but that was no reason for not 'holding himself in readiness', and he questioned if he were ready.  as a sort of postscript - and, in fact, it is here that tarrou's diary ends - he noted that there is always a certain hour of the day and of the night when a man's courage is at its lowest ebb, and it was that hour only which he feared

so all a man could win in the conflict between plague and life was knowledge and memories