Mini Sotte

Was vortexing hard in this strangely snowless clime until, today, I met a young doe-eyed lyonnaise, my aunt and uncle's ward, who kept asking me about "Las Vegas?" and ate seven (tiny) desserts. Her version of my dad's joke goes like this: "Why French omelettes are so small? Because un œuf is un œuf, it is not funny because I say it with accent!", but of course there is a French word for humor, it is l'humour. She was seventeen; I sucked her life force.

Real Talk

"We're just so much more intimate on Gchat than in person ... I mean, we're just so intimate on Gchat. No but not like in a sex way. I mean not usually LOL. It's just, it's almost like, we're closest when we're far apart."

Diet Tip

Lysander looked at him, saw the fineness of his clothing he was wearing, smelled his perfumes, noticed the fineness of the necklaces and bangles and the rest of the jewelry he had on, and said, "What do you mean, Cyrus? Did you really do some of this planting with your own hands?"

"Does that surprise you, Lysander?" Cyrus replied. "I swear to you by Mithras that, my health permitting, I never ate without having first worked up a sweat by undertaking some activity relevant either to the art of war or to agriculture, or by stretching myself in some way or other."

Lysander's own report is that when he heard this, he applauded Cyrus and said, "You deserve your good fortune, Cyrus: you have it because you are a good man."

Kafkalepsis

This perversion of the truth, though familiar to the hunger artist, always unnerved him anew and was too much for him. What was a consequence of the premature termination of his fast was presented here as its cause! To fight against this idiocy, this world of idiocy, was impossible.

uhmmmmmmmm

I want a titanium knee already. Even now, there are mice who wear titanium helmets. Who knows what thoughts people their tiny brains. I bet they're less thoughts than tweets.

Last night I had a drag of a yoga instructor's electric cigarette (mint cartridge). I looked even more stupid than when I smoke regular cigarettes. Meanwhile she tried via text to assuage her girlfriend, who was sitting outside a building somewhere crying and unable to move (no; "not motivated to move"). Another yoga instructor told me he had found stillness. And anyway, the fact that I drop this knife, and it vibrates, well that's what our brains do, that's thoughts, so maybe the knife has a primitive kind of consciousness. He kept dropping the knife on the lightly stained tablecloth over and over, with joyful materialism. I couldn't look away. I told everyone who wasn't on Facebook and/or Instagram to "grow up! GROW UP!" For it is not we who have domesticated the Internet; it is the Internet that has domesticated us, thank God. Speaking of what I want, I also want a Google microchip in my brain.

New Year's Solution

One part riff, one part raff