some tweets I wrote for apocalypse paperback release:
I had the sense I’d live forever so I married her believing there’d be time once she was gone.
We all agreed to the terms of service
She stuffed the fluffiest item into the case and took it with her.
Weather dot com helped them plan a trip outside.
She had her babe in one arm and her ground beef in the other.
Ultra filtered milk from cows not treated with rBSTt has 50% more this and 30% more that.
Pushing the airplane volume down eventually blackened the video. But there were hundreds more!
In this apocalypse, all the cars on the road out of town were delivering for amazon.
If you had to choose btwn animals and people what would you choose? Me too. People. #evilmoviequote
He remembered the internet.

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working on my book. have yet to figure out how to work on book while paying attention to my job. it’s so all or nothing. plus not very well. posting in the interest of making a record of making a book.

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look! I’m part of architecture. Too bad I can’t get it to upload not blurry.  14233239_10154533211009846_260159621652810527_n

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speculative design

Been paying a little attention to current trends in “upscale” “luxury” housing designs. Wandered around some model homes in a new california development. Now in all the master bathrooms (master bathrooms!  master!) there is no sign of a toilet— the toilet has its own room that looks like a closet. An american wc I guess. I’ve only seen them before in fancy restaurants. But this is just to say here’s an idea for a piece of speculative fiction I won’t write: all these rich kids growing up in houses (and I’m guessing private schools’ bathrooms will follow restaurants and homes…) that make it possible for them to believe that they are the only ones whose sh+t stinks and what is the psycho-social outcome of that lived experience?


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that felt great

Now– just this morning– when I worried about one focalization in the book depicting in a is-it-synchronous-or-is-it-convenient way that has plagued me, I thought “that’s just how this book is”– like for the first time maybe–

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so much fear that I will write something and it will be read as if I wrote it because I thought no one had thought of that before. I never think that, for the record.

but I do often write things b/c I’ve never thought of them before, and that is almost the same thing and that is where the fear comes from, and the shame of never having thought of things before.

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thrum, gingerly

words that seem only to appear in written narrative.

every time I read them I think “hmmm, really?”

sometimes they end up seeming fine.

still, I will never pen anything.

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I was just remembering high school, anticipating going there and getting to smell “Opium” wafting down the halls. Had an impulse to google it, as if that would produce the smell again.

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joke “joke”

joke I made up in rome:

“I think I found a body!”

“Call an archeologist!”

another “joke” from my sound files from 2012:

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it is hard to write here, because of the weather. writing at yaddo in the summer was hard but I felt fancy and everyone’s making each other feel fancy all day so maybe that make up for it. though almost everything I wrote then has been cut or buried. I just left myself instructions for tomorrow. my brain feels so fuzzed out. I am not used to waking up squirmy with bug bites, that slightly puffed feeling in my inner ear and throat, the histimine flavor or whatever it is. I remember longing to be nocturnal. I could check with spouse see if she’s up for it with me.  maybe we can try it for the month of august. wake up, take the dog out, fix dinner, watch the sunset somewhere nice, get to work. too bad she’s always doing stuff on the phone. go to bed as it’s getting misty.

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