How are you? Where are you? S. has moved down to the city, so many people are sweltering in the city heat these days. Not me. I have long hours at work in an ice box, it is hard to know the season when it is so controlled. But that is okay. I have a window that I look out of. It feels good to be here, laying low. Very low. J. has been at the beach. Lucky guy. For two weeks now. One beach with wild horses that face the wind to get the flies off, staring out to sea. The other one with his family in M. CT.
Shoes off, sand on you butt, salt making patterns on your calf.
I was in M. with him last weekend. The kids were there too, niece and two nephews, little tots, the oldest is seven. We made a club house in the corner of our room, the dead bug club, and drew posters for advertisements that we are going to hang up around the property. D., J.’s brother, is getting married on Sunday. It will be good for J. and I to witness how the whole thing happens. Fabricating an event out of air, while not new to me, is always such a mystery, and having a machete will be fab.
I miss you. I think about you a lot. I was meditating last night, first time in a while, it was great. Thought of you then too and wanted to see you, or at least say hi.
I say ‘that’s totally cool’ at work. J. warned me about using youthful language at the job, things that would make me sound too loose. Everyone gets a character at work, and mine is like some spaced-out hippie ding-dong that doesn’t give a shit about anything. Hard to give a shit about some of this shit. Maybe I earned my cartoon character. Gross.
I have been plowing through Jacques Rancier on the train rides. Tough to read something like that on the subway. Very interesting though and it has created some great conversations and perspectives, so it is doing its job. S. wrote his senior project on him apparently, I am sure it was really good.
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