"As when you attend a funeral and notice, against your will, that it's being poorly done." --D. Barthelme

(Clockwise fr. top left: DFW, PD, BL, all entropically bl8zed)

Bliss -- a second-by-second joy and gratitude at the gift of being alive, conscious -- lies on the other side of crushing, crushing boredom. Pay close attention to the most tedious thing you can find (Tax Returns, Televised Golf) and, in waves, a boredom like you've never known will wash over you and just about kill you. Ride these out, and it's like stepping from black and white into color. Like water after days in the desert. Instant bliss in every atom.

--David Foster Wallace, describing his unfinished novel, The Pale King

(whatimworkinon)

We made a stereo. Detail of it

Mine leads to thing, thine can't uphold. Mine is that which is not this. Then. If it could then couldn't or could not. Please don't seek this out.

I've lost a few, trains, then. Then it's settled. Savored on a withered plaid plead with grommets. Sorry. I can't quite confide but you know how that song goes where the line doesn't quite match but it's a cover and then it's lean, it's almost round and, save for two dimensions, a whisk. I found a reason.

It's a late train, but a train.
Run, run run.