it was recently my grandma’s 99th birthday and my brother’s 47.

we’re all getting older by the minute and the promises of life seem further away.

of course this post never got written. smh.

• i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again - there’s comfort in the blinking cursor.

• i fail to understand anyone who wishes to be a specialist. but, having said that, i completely understand why someone would become one.

• if there’s something worth saying, i don’t know what it is or where you’d even bother saying it.

• the best utterances are the absurd noises made during sleep.

• i’m missing something but i’m not sure what it is.

so much of life is the entry of data into a system. input -> black box -> output

i wonder what some of the bizarre struggles are even for. is it just to punch at something and in doing so find the purpose that exists only in punching?

idealism is best reserved for chewing gum and horse races.