walked into the bathroom with my clippers to trim my beard but when i flicked the light on and looked in the mirror i pointed at myself and said 'keep it' without pausing and walked back out of the bathroom

‘Today, 11:24 AM’

just like that it’s gone

last night my roommate got home late from a movie and i asked him how it was and he said it was two hours and forty five minutes of polish avant-garde sci-if and i said what you don't like polish avant-garde sci-fi

opinion: having a mattress and not having a mattress are equally embarrassing when you're single 

the obligation to follow back is real

have you ever started crying outside of a laundromat because you heard a stranger tell the laundromat owner happy birthday and it reminded you of being in therapy and talking about how you wanted to kill two people with a 7.62mm machine gun from the back of a military vehicle to get it over with because you were tired of wondering if you would have to kill two people with a 7.62mm machine gun from the back of a military vehicle yeah me neither

remember when she told me she wished i was more spontaneous and then when i was more spontaneous she looked at me like 'what are you doing' yeah me neither

the difference is that i asked you for your blood but you cut me for mine

i worry that certain people think i am lying about every detail of my life, that i have to prove everything is true unprovoked

people on this block have been going from deli to deli individually looking for slim jims to eat during the eclipse and then meeting back on their stoop and reporting to each other that everywhere is sold out and panicking and shouting native new yorker phrases

how is any merchant selling out of slim jims let alone multiple merchants

why is any merchant selling slim jims

why is jim slim to begin with

'spotify' but really 'beach house’

‘beach house’ but really ‘days of candy’

people hate putting on the fitted sheet but i like it, i like pulling it down tight on the corners 

boycotting the eclipse

went back into the bathroom and trimmed only my mustache

congratulations on becoming the new owner of a ‘writer’ emphasis quotes. hydrate daily with iced lattes and don’t forget to reaffirm their drug use. ignore their moods they will pass. if you find your writer lying on the floor in a puddle of urine/blood take a picture because they will want to embed it in a blog post later. enjoy your new writer.

man i’m really working hard on this film today

i think everyone who dates multiple people casually is really only thinking about one person at any given moment but it’s never the same two people thinking about each other in the same given moment and that’s why people start out talking and then fuck for a while and then stop fucking and then stop talking

a choking victim poster except ‘food’ is replaced with ‘self-doubt’

i have my headphones in and the album stopped and i forgot and left them in and have been listening to two guys next to me talk about trying to write comedy and it reminds me of when my friend and i used to come here and talk about trying to write comedy except we would sit at the table over there by the atm

is there anything stopping me from spending another one hundred forty dollars on sneakers though. realistically.

i have a private twitter account that only i and some moderator at twitter have seen the contents of and when i die it will probably just get deleted so technically i’ve had a very dark one-sided conversation with one person i’ll never meet

i like being in public around people writing and having the feeling of wondering if i’m going to end up in someone’s journal entry for today

liability insurance but instead of car accidents it’s failed relationships

electric guest is jorma taccone’s brother

am i exhausted from not eating enough or not being dead enough

someone said ‘hi paul’ while i was riding down berry st and i’ve been going through my rolodex of voices and i have no idea who it could have been

my soul is hungry but my body isn't but my stomach is but i'm not

woke up to an open bag of haribo peaches next to my face again

i'm not putting dates on these anymore

time to see what internet posts from last night i need to edit/delete

genuinely don’t know if i’m sparing their feelings or mine?

and suddenly everyone was drinking topo chico on social media

get me out of williamsburg forever please

hey see that bench on wyckoff guess what happened there about a year ago

get me out of bushwick forever please

more axe body spray on the A train last night, it’s making a comeback you’ve been warned

my inbox looks like this:
withdrawal alert
withdrawal alert
hi this is the VA we just wanted to remind you that you have PTSD okay good talk
withdrawal alert

i remembered why i stopped coming to variety when i handed the cashier five fifty for ‘an’ iced latte

ridgewood always has a calming effect and that defies expectation when you think about what happened to me here

i was walking down gates and i felt so unburdened and happy and then it stopped because i thought about it

i used snapchat today

i joke a lot because that's my thing but i feel genuinely that i am losing my mind

on the subway playing 'stroller or off-road military vehicle'

when did strollers start looking like lawnmowers though

instagram has a leave conversation 'option' emphasis quotes

checking under the stalls for feet and 'i think we're alone now' gets stuck in my head 

remember when board shorts got appropriated by white suburbia

we stood on my stoop until 5:13am smoking parliaments and sipping tecate and i was answering questions about being a marine and then we were talking about rape survivors and it got quiet and we called it a night 

you can't have an honest discussion about the military without using the word 'rape'

i met an actress last night and i asked her if she'd seen Good Time and she said no and i said it was a great film and she should see it and she said she was tired of getting film recommendations from white men because all the films 'we' like only cast white men and i said only one character in the film is a white man and she paused and said so what do you do for work

good clouds today, like the skin on my hands

how to talk to girls at the beach -- step one: leave the beach

that weird high step jog people do in the shallows makes me want to go blind

watching seagulls walk calms me down, the soft little squish their webbed feet do in wet sand 

do you ever look at someone and instantly know they drink michelob ultra 

a slack channel where all anyone can say is 'hey sup'

this intersection smells like my grandma's house and now i miss her

i had an extra ticket to japandroids and she wanted to go and i went to her place in st marks and she sat on her counter because i don't remember why and then we fucked and we were almost late to the show but we made it and i don't think we talked the whole time


not the greatest feeling ever 

you can see anyone you want on subway platforms regardless of whom you are actually seeing 

'just say it next time'
just says it
gets no response

shadow of a fan on the screen of a man and a man sharing beer on a bridge in new york city i live here do i live here

never sign anything it's a mistake bleed from your eyes until you die

it must have been so nice to have me around
sitting patiently until you wanted me
mmhmm i was such a good boy
mmhmm mmhmm mmhmm

there’s a girl in new jersey who has a video of me coming i sent it to her on purpose after she asked for it sometimes i wonder if someday it'll end up on pornhub and people will recognize my tattoos

august something - today

it took three days for me to realize i carried her because i wanted to, not because i thought it was the charming thing to do

i don't know if i am

saul's elevator smells like christmas

finally cried during a session

walked from the village to greenpoint without meaning to

ready to die now

10:56am, queens bound G train: someone is eating broccoli and cheese soup

we concluded that there are two versions of me and one is very afraid of the other. if i'm not careful i become the scared version, shy, vulnerable, anxious and 

if i see one more person yank/drag their dog by the leash 

okay this is the fourth time we’ve passed each other on the street i should say something 

i don't need to be included

what i said: ‘can i answer this later? i’m all over the place.’
what i meant: ‘i went to peter pan hungover and now i’m surrounded by half eaten donuts on my couch send help’

aug 11 - 13


can instagram shut the fuck up for a second why is everyone posting audio

can i shut the fuck up for a second 

i didn't know you could mob in a smart car but this guy is doing it and he's doing it big

i forgot to add a song to my last blog post and now it feels too late to go back and edit it

grateful neither of us tried to make that anything more than a chance encounter on the platform just now

this entire block of eighth ave smells like axe

rolls royce with connecticut vanity plate 'SCIENCE'

please touch my computer screen more with your giant goblin nails

i haven’t hidden a stain like this since high school

hey let's invent a sport and make the scoring really weird and arbitrary so only total fucking nerds want to watch it and we'll call it tennis

Déja Enfondue

purposely scuffing up my white Stans

i'm the guy in this restaurant playing the youtube video really loudly on his phone 

fell asleep watching Jane The Virgin two nights ago

pretty rational fear that the most effective way of being okay is hearing someone else tell you that you are okay

stood in front of the oven door with my shirt open to let the heat in. thought of christmas in ohio, 1995.

why do i feel like i'm on a planet in the star wars universe? like i’m on planet naboo. 

it feels like i've been here, but it doesn't feel like i used to hide here. both are true. 

 the exterior of the moma ps1 building makes me sentimental for a place i've never been.

lots of white guys in loafers looking important with their arms crossed today

(ray liotta) -- (acne scars) = matt bomer

cute barista was nice to me again

sorry, that’s not how this works.

want: more arm tattoos, more muscle on arms

just needed to get out, he says. feeling better now. he’s walking up the steps of the 21st street stop and the wind is coming down, the wind is coming down righteous and smooth and icy and whatever was behind him no longer is. he drags a shadow everywhere he goes and everything disappears, a good thing, the light is so bright on this side that the black is infinite on the other. no one’s back there, this isn’t happening. a woman walks her child up the steps and she’s wearing something sweet, watermelon or honey or rosewater and it rolls in waves through the air, collecting on the walls and sliding down them to the floor and rising back up again.

fan is whirring. i’m not here. shadows across the street. my vision is a portrait. i am here. writing this but not writing it. music is going in and out. coming back in through my headphones now. stronger. water on the bottom edges of my eyes. world is reeling. spinning backward but forward. i’m not here. hands aren’t mine. song is over. definitely here.

found a new meta joke on 'the office' after missing it for twelve years.

where do cockroaches go in the winter? don’t say ‘inside’.

i used to write music reviews on amazon for fun. i'd spend meticulous hours drafting them hoping the artist would see them and contact me.

i’ll die first either way.

our trivia team name was ‘Joe’s Biden His Time’.

contextually mentioned my involvement in the war to a stranger.

i used to wear this brand?

‘uncle jihad’ has potential to be a band name.

only my left earbud ever falls out. am i lopsided?


i don't think i have room for your personality right now

please curb your european tourist.

lady, you have got to calm down with the fucking typing. the table is shaking.

wanna get high and eat gummy candy w me?

an exercise in restraint. that’s what i’ll call it. that’s what it is? always hiding and pushing and re-organizing but it’s time to leave them at the top. stop hiding the things, start controlling the urge. stop saying ‘it’s sad’. stop treating it with false import.

so much to say. forgot it all. the little wastebasket. some sort of rattan pattern on it, totally fake. it’s made of that plastic that shatters as soon as you drop it from far enough or put too much pressure on it. it shattering reminds me of a hot driveway for some reason. hot pavement and kids toys. the plug behind it — what does it run to? another white noise machine probably. the little dot on the floorboard next to it that looks like an old doorbell button. i think about pushing it in every time i sit on this couch. the little kleenex box. the glass table. the legs of the table aren’t legs. a continuous structure of ’N’ shapes. circular. the glass platter just rests on it. the glass is smoky on the edge. thick. it must weigh sixty pounds. reminds me of candy. 

saul almost cried when i told him about the end of the phone call. i only know this because he told me this. he said it made him well up. said it was sad. sad for everyone. saul almost cried. my family makes my therapist want to cry.

high volume, low frequency noise keeps sounding in the library. half of the room is looking at each other: should we…? the other half is unconcerned. distracted. trying to ignore it. i go to the help desk. do you hear that? he says yeah, i hear it. turns back to his computer. stares at it. is that normal? i don’t know, might be the elevator he says. i want to say thanks a lot, dickhead but i don’t. i want to tap the bottom of his chin with two fingers using just enough force that it’s offensive. but i don’t. i go back to my computer and write this instead.

it’s not even that much stuff. just two boxes. doesn’t feel like there’s room for it. i did this in ridgewood and bushwick, too. old me, maybe. doesn’t want it to be final. don’t sit. or, if you do, sit right on the edge.

oversharing again. too many outlets. conglomerated. every platform is text is pictures is video is streaming. not good for me. that’s part of me i’m giving away every time. telling myself to practice and not predict. don’t shred burn delete — that’s sidestepping. just sit for a second, not on the edge. sit back. fold your hands. this is okay. you are here.

he asked if i was a liberal again. if that was ‘an accurate statement’. i wanted to ask him if he voted for a failed businessman who brags about raping women. if that was ‘an accurate statement’. i got quiet instead. buried myself. said ‘i don’t think so’. they’re both so interested. they lower it into our conversations and leave it hanging there from the end of the crane. a mosquito in my ear. when we got off the phone i wrote seventeen lines about him. his cowardice. i didn’t write about her. i never do. oedipal? probably the other thing, the one that i can’t ever bring into focus. that she’s afraid of him and hides behind his opinions. pretends they are hers, too. i don’t miss that house. i don’t miss that state. i get closer and closer to pushing my chair away from the table with every phone call. every phone call gets further apart. i don’t care one way or the other.

read the graveyard blog last night. the whole thing. so optimistic. i didn’t believe any of it, i don’t think. a hostage negotiation with myself. captor and victim all at once. i was so far away from everything. hovering outside the window of every room. watching from the ceiling while i practiced ‘yes, and’. sitting one desk to the right while i fumbled through questions about descartes. apologetic, some of it. i believed all of that, i think. glad to have outgrown it. not in the kid —> adult way, unless we’re talking about the part of me you don’t see. 

the gym felt good. felt good to be judged. to be the smallest. to hurt. i walked in and signed up. you have weights here? okay. he asked me about my goals. to gain weight, i said. too much product in his hair. shirt a size too small. he tried to make small talk about ohio after he punched my phone number in. the browns. cincinnati. you have weights here? okay. my shoulders still scream at me. they knock and scrape and hesitate. i hear them grind through the deltoid, through the trapezius and the infraspinatus, the only muscles i can ever get to grow. except for my legs, which no woman is interested in. my elbow gets hot and i feel the ligament snap and bend from the up and down. i let it burn. doing pushups in front of the mirror so i can watch my abdomen hang beneath me, so i can be unsatisfied with my body. in front of the mirror so i can look myself in the eye while i shake under the weight of




i take my shirt off for my last few sets of planks. scars on my back, on display for the room. on display for me. so i can be unsatisfied with my skin. i’m probably on a snapchat story somewhere. good for them.

dreamt that i lost my green doc marten’s in a flood. i went back for them.

how have i never listened to ‘all my friends’ in the rain before today?

the guy drinking a 16oz red bull whom i passed near the grocery twenty minutes ago just walked by with a new 16oz red bull.

just pulled out my green doc marten’s to ensure i did not actually lose them in a flood.

i asked for a square slice at my counter place and he said ‘you mean sicilian?’. is there anything else square behind this glass, my dude?

i sat at the window to eat my slices like i always do. a bus stopped across the street and a bald man eating his own slice locked eyes with me and solemnly nodded. i don’t think my pizza meant to me what his pizza meant to him.

wearing my green doc marten’s into the city to avoid losing them in the flood that is surely going to strike my apartment while i’m gone.

i don’t know why i texted her that i was getting on stage last night. it looked sloppy this morning.

agreed to find another location for the film. still haven’t settled the first.

also agreed to complete the logistics master for the first location i still haven’t settled.

oh, and I’ve never completed a logistics master before.

actually, she was lovely about it. 

too much cumin in this hummus. 

a lot all at once forever

sure i could sure i could, but i won't. six months ago i would have, i think. maybe even three months ago. hopefully not three months ago. what's the statute on understanding previous versions of yourself? when do you stop being now and start being then? we talked about that on the water last night -- whether time is infinite snapshots or a single moment that stretches forever.

sure i could. i could. but i won't. and not because it's not good for me, not because i want to but i know better, not because i want to at all. not holding back, not prohibiting, that's the greatest thing i've grown into. people say they want honesty, but they don't. they want honesty when the honesty turns out to be what they wanted. they don't want it in virtue of itself. and i'm not going to indulge that, not anymore. there's no one to hide from but me, and i'm not going to indulge that, not anymore.

i haven't done this in a while. the edge of the bed and the edge of the tub feel the same for now. i'm louder this time, though. much louder. i don't know why i'm quiet other times. i'm not holding back, it just doesn't come out. sometimes i wish it would, but i can't think like that too long otherwise things get muddy. nothing got muddy last time. it's not muddy this time either, it's clear, so clear. i like that. it lets me know i'm moving the way i'm supposed to, the proper trajectory, from the middle out and not from the edge in.

aug 4

blond was playing.

it was 4:13am and john said she wanted to know 'what i was up to after this'. i ducked around the corner and went home to watch seinfeld.

invest in a pair of quality headphones because that's what these nights require.


aug 5

what do you know that you don't think i know you know?

beyoncé, nail art | cold side of the pillow

interpol, leif erikson, verse 2, line 4


aug 6

someone finally moved the bottle of grey goose from the roof at court square. or was that somewhere else?

i’ve always wanted a shirt with pearl-button snaps. 

rave music doesn't seem appropriate for a sunday flea market in LIC.

rave music doesn't seem appropriate anywhere.

day two of a tater-tot based meal for breakfast.

'eleanor put your boots back on' is playing at corner bistro.

'rest my chemistry' is playing at corner bistro.

can we stop with the rosé everything

a sail line on this boat is tapping in the wind at exactly 240 beats per minute.

take your time hurry up

i don’t like how connected i am but i still marvel at it sometimes.

if you took the aesthetic of a home depot lumber yard and made it into a neighborhood, you’d have maspeth.

one eye is usually covered when we talk, and

does anyone sell pore strips that cover your entire back?

i have burned six fingers and significant portions of both hands in two days cooking hello fresh. i have not burned any of the food. 

blood and bruises and very wide eyes.

may have trimmed my armpits when i buzzed my head the other day.

how many times can you have the same conversation?

i was lying on my back on my bed and i was thinking of all the things i could say and all the things i've wanted to say and it started happening for the first time in so long, i was with myself again. it comes on like something beneath me, up from the middle of the water while i float on the surface, eyes hovering lazily on the ceiling.

i was sitting on my front step and the rain was coming back in, third time today. it comes up from beneath the ground, not down from the clouds. i feel the breeze run across and between my feet and legs before i see the drops pebble the concrete.

my skin is rebelling against me. maybe for not eating meat? i thought it was going to be the other way around.

nothing is a waste of time if i tell myself it’s what i need.

what bothers me the most about turning twenty-nine? its proximity to thirty or its complete lack of significance?

saw a pregnant woman taking pictures of something in mccarren park. got distracted trying to determine her subject and slipped in a pile of wet dog shit, flailed like a scooby-doo cartoon for a moment.
it was a hawk.
she saw a hawk. 

on the other hand, i'll have a great story if i end up dropping out to do the film full-time. 

if i just smoke one more bowl

people ask me things and then i start to spin.
i start to pace.
i keep watching my life as a movie. 
i keep wanting it to be that movie, that movie,
i want to watch me live it instead of living it. 
because if it’s written it’s out of my hands, and it ends when the credits roll and i think that’s what i’ve been trying to make true ever since i started watching movies and becoming the characters on the screen so i don’t have to be myself off screen. that sounds like a trope because it is, and if i can accept that instead of making it romantic like i always do then i know i’ve beaten it, but i haven’t beaten it, and boy do i wish the sun would set on me already, because it’s not comical, it’s not a movie, it’s me and

if i keep looking at her i won't come out of it, and that's a thing people say and don't mean -- well, i mean it and

i think that space we talked about is right where it belongs

it’s not a big deal, i promise.
i can ask the questions myself:
who am i
or at least, what do i want.
i want someone.
and then i won’t want someone,
i’ll want my room and the soft glow
of people talking to other people
and i just watch
and say it with them.
i’ll want the bitter orange burn
and the spaced out laugh
talk to myself, talk to my recorder
talk to the computer
write it out
now it’s something
now you’re something

i found a recording from last april
and it’s nineteen minutes and thirty-four seconds long
and includes a verbal confession of 

i found a recording from last july
and it’s three minutes and thirteen seconds long
practicing my stand-up set
jokes about things girls said to me last summer
to make me see they wanted to fuck me
do you eat pussy?
you could have grabbed my ass last night
i want to strap your face to my vagina

i laugh trying to tell the jokes
they’re not funny
i laugh trying to talk about things
they’re not funny

i’m sitting behind the couch
looking at everyone’s heads
it’s alright
i’m here but not right here
i’m such a spectator
it’s not a big deal, i promise.
i can ask the questions myself:
why don’t i want to be me?