Recording without a tea towel on my snare drum for the first time in, like, forever.
Stumbling upon an eBay listing for an anti-Kaepernick, anti-Nike, anti-Black-Lives-Matter “art print” that looks like it was designed in Microsoft Paint, with a 1,463-word, racist screed in its product description.
“The image will be printed on a glossy paper in high definition. All sales are final. I’m not thinking about myself. What? All you Facebooger diks can’t figure that out?”
“A.I. is going to destroy your lives! 5G is the baby step. Then comes Skynet.”
“[The globalist elites] think about $Green, not N*gga, Black, Whatever.”
Its weird combination of anticapitalist rage, which would sound at-home in a punk zine, and racist nationalism.
How it becomes like a diary toward the end, with dated updates on seemingly irrelevant current events, like Dr. Ford’s testimony at the Kavanaugh hearings.
Its idiosyncratic use of question marks.
Walking outside to find a woodpecker-looking bird on our porch.
Baking pies with Casey.
Finding a jar of McCormick whole clove spice from 1988 in our cabinet. Considering using it in our pumpkin pie, but deciding against it.