The internet seems to be making everyone care less. About taking a look around, about cooking a decent meal, or, for fuck’s sake, reading a goddamn book. Nostalgia rips all of us open, sure, but it was nice getting on a bicycle and not posting a photo and a blurb about it. I used to come here to be inspired. Now, I come here and am overwhelmed.

Los Angeles, California

A list of weekend things:

Pacific Gray Whale sighting off the shore at Manhattan Beach. Although I saw its large body bobbing above the water from a distance, just knowing I could see it—that it was there—swelled my blood flow. Paddleboarders glided by, rushed to catch up with it. Some even able to reach down and put their hands on its body.

Pops and Trisha came out to visit, too. They saw the whale, also. Pops had never been to the Pacific Coast before.

Sailed in Ventura with folks met over a month ago. Invite was accepted. Seals slept on docks and barked, the names of boats slid by: Reverie II, Horny Hooker, Sea Shell, Fish & Chicks, etc. Boats don’t seem to shift as much as cars do. Like planes, they could exist as vividly twenty years ago as their style does today.

Griffith on Sunday. Over the city, thinking: “Sometimes, I get fed up with it, but when I get tired and sore, I climb up the mountain and look out and I remember how fucking lucky I am to live here. Every day.” In a secluded enough spot, you can almost sense that it’s yours for second, those moments.

Cinco de Mayo, a group of us went to El Coyote and laughed tears, had outstanding margaritas, and were gifted T-Shirts. It’s among few spaces where we are recognized—are saved a table because we’re there enough. After, T and I went downtown and took the elevator up to Perch on Hill and 5th—saw, again, what it means to be in this place when you’re from the Midwest and you can remember how hard it was to get anywhere there.

Needless to say, it was a busy and beautiful weekend. I saw Belle yesterday by myself and wept through most of it. Passion. Don’t forget about that.

onmilwaukee
Reconnecting with Neko Case. We drift apart and come back together like childhood companions or driftwood hitting a shore. When I’m stuck in writing—rolling in circles around lines and stanzas, ready to hack the whole of it apart and set it ablaze, I remember there are songs that rip me back into years where I could spend all day in my living room writing all night. She shoves me into triggering towns—scenes where I think: here, I could be satisfied but in good turmoil. 

Reconnecting with Neko Case. We drift apart and come back together like childhood companions or driftwood hitting a shore. When I’m stuck in writing—rolling in circles around lines and stanzas, ready to hack the whole of it apart and set it ablaze, I remember there are songs that rip me back into years where I could spend all day in my living room writing all night. She shoves me into triggering towns—scenes where I think: here, I could be satisfied but in good turmoil.