MAY 1st, you old friend
i effin’ love spring. the birds are chirping, the leaves are growing, and i am bopping to dave matthews band, live from fenway— it’s my ritual every year as a sign that nature is healing. for the past couple of months, i’ve been slammed with tons of work— it was almost like i predicted the best time to put the blog on hold, but i’m here writing an update that i don’t quite expect anybody to read, so it’s mostly for me to check back on in a few years to see what i was up to in the spring of 2023. right now, my life feels like the opening pages of notes from underground where i’m just rambling to myself like a crazy old man going through an existential phase— though i must admit that i’ve long moved past the stage of existentialism. i set out on a journey years ago in pursuit of the truth in a world that merely offers us nothing but subjective anecdotes to life when i know that somewhere out there, lies objectivity. i think i’m truly starting to understand what steve ditko was going through when he wrote mr. a. but, my conclusion as of now is that there are outside forces [wolves disguised in sheep’s clothing, if you will] who dictate much of what goes on with culture, reality, language, structure, and worst of all, morality.
“i think i’m truly starting to understand what steve ditko was going through when he wrote mr. a” - me
anywho, took a ride to western mass the other and stopped to walk stockbridge main street all by my lonesome— my grandmother has a fond attachment to the red lion inn, so i decided to a snap a few photos to send over to her. she’s getting a bit frail, so the ride out there would be a long one, but it would be sweet to try to take her out there at some point. I’ve picked up a bunch of great art & a few real cool books that i’ll start showcasing here in a couple days. i just got a physical exam, i’m drinking my water, my bag is packed as i head out to san fran for shortboxed live— and who knows, maybe i’ll even queue up a different dave matthews album in the next few days.
