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