my parents spelled all of my names weird
stuff i've written
It’s December and drizzling and 60 outside, so I have all my windows open, trying to gobble up the humidity, save it inside.
*sends emotional feelers out to befriend and gather together the angel-ghosts hiding in the corners of the room*
“A phone is not a device it is a conduit. It is a channel through which energy flows. I can direct it. Away, out, in every direction, towards all that I am, or back, inward, toward a more physical manifestation. It does the work that my body and being require of it, the same as my brain, my eyes, my heart, my veins. A phone can be a mirror or a window or a weapon or an emotion or a story or The Truth, so how can it be a mere device. How can it be a physical object”
Shit, it’s a good morning for writing on tumblr. Go read the rest of this scene.
Last night at a very loud party in a bookstore I walked up to a woman and asked if I could take a picture of her because she has the sort of hair cut I want. Then I talked with her friend, who is a historian, about living history museums. At the end of the party the friend found me to give me her card.