24 Jan 2011

January 24, 2011

I threw away all the styrofoam cups from my desk this morning. One of them had five concentric rings around the inside where the coffee level had slowly fallen. I thought, that’s evaporation.

I’m exhausted. Writing and rewriting until I can’t tell what’s good or bad anymore. Stuff usually turns out worse in the end. Sometimes not.

I’m going to stop at half-price books on the way home and buy a book about flowers. I’m working on a project that involves flowers.

Janessa and I almost got into a fight on sunday because she told me she didn’t like mexican food. But of course it wasn’t really about mexican food, it was about me feeling inadequate.

I’ve stopped looking at the stats for this blog. I don’t really want to know if you’re reading this or not. Why would I want to know that?

I’ve been having strange dreams lately. The other night I dreamt I was a physician in Nazi germany, and I was talking with a friend, another physician, and we were on this cliff over the ocean. He told me he didn’t feel bad about anything he’d done, not at all. I told him that suicide was my only chance at being a good man again.

I think good art lets people make all these tiny little leaps for themselves. Bad art tells people everything.

I only recently learned what a Jesuit is. Until now I was faking it.

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