Last night, I couldn’t help but notice.

Lord, you’re beautiful. Stunning, even.

The way you carry yourself. The way you look at me. You make me want to look at you.

And so I do.

I take it all in. Every curve. Every line.

I look at you and I don’t understand...

I don’t understand how a man can prefer men. Ever. It makes no sense to me. I hope it does to someone. I could never.

I don’t understand... well, anything.

Yet I feel. Desire, more than anything. Perhaps a twinge of envy. For that guy who gets to run his hands over those curves. Every. Night.

I don’t understand. Yet, I realize what it is like to fantasize. To want.

The more I look at you, the less I understand. How can anyone be so beautiful?

Oh. If only you were my girl.

What i'm listening to:

Everything Louder Than...
Meat Loaf
Bat Out of Hell II: Back Into Hell

Today, I am grateful others are so concerned with what’s going on in my life.

After all, now I don’t have to be!

Have you ever slept so hard it was like you fell into a coma?

Further, while you were sleeping… did you ever dream that you fell asleep? At work? And awoke exhausted?

It’s like “dreamland” me is exhausted as well. Tara says I’m thinking too much, and it’s exhausting.

She’s not wrong.

Although, it could just be low-grade narcolepsy in action.

On another note, my dreamland alter ego is also going blind from macular degeneration. While I need reading glasses, I haven’t noticed if things are more in focus off-center. I hope it’s not a taste of things to come.

There is so much beauty in the world I have yet to see…

What i'm listening to:

Make Me Like You
Gwen Stefani
This Is What the Truth Feels Like

The 5G is amazing. Plus ÐOGE.

While reading A Dreadful Man, I find I’m lamenting the lost art of letter writing.

Perhaps, in this digital age, there is simply no magic left in crafting a letter by hand. Or relating daily activities. Or being witty. What have telephones, the internet, and social media done to us?

Where are the artisans?

And don’t get me started on how passive aggressive we’ve become as a society.

The letters in this book are fantastic. They convey true affection, yet are also remarkably blunt at times. Perhaps it’s communication that’s a lost art.

Who today would send the following to someone who doesn’t approve of the man she’s going to marry?

I see at the end of your letter you say, “If there is anything we can do, please do not hesitate to let us know.” Well, I suppose having been such an old friend I must hesitate in front of such a tempting invitation, but I have an almost overpowering inclination to tell you.

Sadly, and clearly with no love, for I do not want to see you again.

The book is largely a collection of correspondences from George Sanders and Benita Hume to the author, Brian Aherne. As such, it feels more like Aherne’s story about himself, but I still find it interesting as it portrays many of Sanders’s idiosyncracies and personality. The letters provide a great glimpse into the voices of the writers, at least.

Where will our future historians learn about us? If (when?) technology fails, will they be able to extract what we were like in the 21st century—from our Instagram posts and tweets? Even then, all Twitter is is blind rage to anyone who’ll listen, and overreaction to any little thing that might be deemed offensive.

Perhaps it is true:

Women are excitable, and not to be taken seriously. I am sure that, secretly, she strongly suspects that I am a shit.

And in our current world, it is frowned upon for men to be men. Better to avoid confrontation—even if it means ghosting.

What’s a fellow to do?

Which brings me to my best friend. Both of us have a minuscule circle of friends… only one or two each true friends. I know I am notoriously difficult to like, or even to get to know—let alone date.

Yet I crave my solitude, and really only keep people around that I find entertaining. Even if:

I might even be his only friend… but that was because the unusual quality of his mind interested and amused me. I explained that, in his odd way, Sanders had been a good friend to me and I liked him…

Most people I know are so mediocre and dull—and strive to maintain that lack of shine. I suppose I should consider myself lucky to have a few friends that truly amuse AND understand me.

And support me through my wild phases & bad decisions.

Yet, there is always room for more. The invitation is always open, and I am frequently delighted by new people. How else can I meet those who might enjoy this adventure?

And, who might enjoy exchanging handwritten letters with me?

Our desire for adventure has been replaced with obligations. Where are the beauties, the courtesans, the muses, the nurturers, strong and caring, lovely and radiant?

What i'm listening to:

In the Beginning
Beautiful World
In the Beginning

I am curious.

I haven’t been curious about things like this in ages.

Yet, it seems like the right time.

Welcome to the wilÐ west!

Let’s see what happens. Stay tuned!

Not entirely unrelated, it occurs to me this is a great time to revisit the word never…

I was enjoying a podcast the other day, and the host was talking about how often he had witnessed a particular event.

I may be misremembering it, but the point is still here: he mentioned he had seen something maybe one in a million times. Or maybe it was one in a thousand. Maybe the ODDS don’t really matter.

At what point, mathematically speaking, does rarely become never? Assuming errors for rounding, one in a thousand might qualify… wouldn’t it?

Food for thought.

After all, the textbook definition:

nev•er adv. 1. not ever, at no time. 2. not in any degree, not under any circumstances.

Yet again, mathematically speaking, not ever could conceivably be a once in a lifetime event. How literal should we be? It really is so insignificant…

And perhaps always falls into the same category? After all, if it fails only once in million occurrences…

Enough philosophizing for today. I hate thinking. Plus, I need to run to the bank and reconnect to my online banking—and unlock my debit card. I understand the necessity of overzealous banking security, but the constant flags for being spontaneous are rather annoying.

Yet, I think it’s a great time to be more tolerant of the word “never.”

What if I told you one doesn’t need to know everything?

Seriously, there is something liberating about just letting go, relaxing, and living in the moment—without collecting MORE information.

Is this sentiment sacrilegious in this, the information age?

Perhaps we are entering a post-information age. We’ve had all of the information literally at our fingertips for a few decades now, not terribly long after someone may have just had to accept that they may never find the answer to the question that they were seeking... short of that stack of Encyclopædia Britannicas.

Society has no memory of how easy they have it. It wasn’t that long ago we had to call the radio station and ask the DJ (remember him?) what song had just played. Now we have Shazam. Or Google has a solid lyric finder if we remember the song in a dream (I can’t be the only one).

And Wikipedia has fountains of useless information, and the IMDb. We no longer need to wonder whatever happened to so-and-so... we can look up the information in nanoseconds.

Solipsistic. What a fantastic word! I was stunned to find this word was omitted from my cherished Doubleday Dictionary. In a time before the Internet, I’d have had to trek to that dreadful library to look up what it meant.

Yet, I persist we now have too much information. We are addicted to that high we get when we find out... and we’ve forgotten what it’s like to just bask in our ignorance—our bliss.

We need to become addicted to that high we get when we are truly aware. Get out of our heads, stop thinking, and be free.

I have reached the happy state of being indifferent to my surroundings.

Let go of your attachment to being right, and suddenly your mind is more open. You're able to benefit from the unique viewpoints of others, without being crippled by your own judgment.

On the other hand, I have this friend. He prefers to be right. I occasionally let him, because why not?

Everything, to him, is measured by metrics and milestones. As if we’re all trying to WIN at this game called life.

In some ways, I find this attitude toxic. Yet, what is a guy to do? Especially when it is your best friend... and the one person I can count on for... well, anything.

While reading The Infinite Game, I found I was searching for ways to escape his metrics, milestones, and need to win. Or at least find a way to balance it with a more infinite mindset.

Maybe balance is the key?

Or maybe balance is not possible in this situation. There is a lot of advice out there to cut out all toxicity. Hmm.

Anyway, I find I’m growing weary of the interrogations. Of course, it’s just conversation (is it?), but I find other people’s curiosity puts a damper on my own. Everyone is so curious about my business, that my natural inquisitive nature ultimately puts a sour taste in my mouth.

Seriously, everything is NOT a fact-finding mission. I’m not out to win anything... only to stay in the game until I fall out.

I struggle enough to stay out of my head without others asking me questions that require thought. Please, just let me live my best life. If you’re going to live vicariously through me, just observe... I’m not hiding anything, I just don’t want to think.