Not actual

Wednesday 6/12/24

All of these people who go on social media, post a photo of their dog or cat, and then caption it like the animal is saying something and calling them mom or dad. For example: Dog in the bed, just having woken up:

"It's too early, mom."

So much loneliness out there.

Unfortunately, some of the best advice we can give people is to stop fingering their cats and the like. No one wants to hear this, though, least of all cat-fingerers. I'm talking metaphorically. Not actual cat fingering. I would hope that's clear, but I also know how the world is.

Text:

I hate putting people up on the blog. The time, the energy. In addition to all I'm already doing. The non-stop nature of it and the non-stop nature of how twisted and incestuous and anti-writing this whole system is. That there are thousands I can put up. The whole thing is such a fucking joke. New Yorker, Atlantic, Guggenheim, Pulitzer. Everything.

Response:

I know you do. It's clear to anyone. But you have to.

Worked on six different stories today for four different books.

Whenever I hear a woodpecker, I root for it. I pull for woodpeckers.

Robins, as I mentioned, are the birds that sing earliest in the morning. That's also them singing at the end of the day.

I don't understand artists from bands who go around on tour singing the songs that someone else in their band or former band wrote. I wouldn't feel good about myself doing that. Why don't you write your own songs? You can't write any as good? So you're just going to sing the ex-bandmate's stuff? Yuck. I don't like that at all.