Wilbur the Pig has been stolen from his treeknot at the intersection of Windy Ridge and Browning Run Trails. I had superglue in the sling pack to cement his legs to his stone floor but no, gone. Above, on Dark Run, needed fixing, floor ripped out and new one installed, I added a rabbit to the group installation on Sidewinder though some asshole(s) destroyed a second group installation on Whitetail, fuckers
Hilltop traditionally emails the we'd like to thank our servants on the fives notice in early July, last year it didn't, this year it did so my thirty year but didn't get mentioned until my thirty-first. Will be thirty-two in a month.
Faculty friends, four of them teachers too, two ugrad, two grad, emailed me, but not my boss, not my boss' boss, not my boss' boss' boss, not my boss' boss' boss' boss who knows my name and face too and the work that I do, did you know the Hamptons a mess this Summer, the dishwishers and poolboys demanding living wages, the peasants, and a Hilltop reminder they'd like me gone not for me don't flatter myself but for my salary
Proust born 150 years ago yesterday. I will make it through eventually, despite the admonition below I do fits and starts, I'm now halfway through the 3rd, nothing, no one makes me tongue the problems of reading translations more than À la recherche du temps perdu and Proust (and I *always* and will always have a first read novel in progress until I'm done with it all
<< But the prohibition against interleaving one’s reading of Proust with other books is absolute: there is no primrose path leading from this cosmos into any other, and anyone who abandons Proust to concentrate on reading other things, be it only for a few days, will find his way back to him none too easily.
I violate that constantly, stop and start and stop, pick up when I consciously try to stop seething for fun, put down when I start seething for fun, trying now seething stop
My best friend Dave sends me his punishing techno. He can’t write moral philosophy without Dr. Rubinstein drilling holes in his head. We should offer drugs to prisoners as an alternative to prison is his thesis. Pills to flatten libido. Pills for compliance. Though computers can seamlessly beat-match on their behalf mostDJs consider it immoral. Some inmates describe their unwanted desires as a radio blaring inside their heads, Dave says. They want to turn the volume down. I love to hear aDJmistime a spinback. Then I really want to dance. In Berghain we do not enter the lightless dungeons but are glad that they exist. Degarelix can make anyone relax. Side effects include bone-thinning and night sweats. His pupils love to see who he becomes at the weekend. Volunteers clean blood from the walls with a bucket of abattoir chlorine. He feeds me magnesium tablets to keep my jaw at ease. We hold hands by the bass bins, sweating and forgiving each other for everything. I love to see his pupils dilate like something high above us, falling.
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