We are all such insufferable tits.

First we have the obvious assholes, the fascists we call the republican party who are trying to turn this place into a combination fundamentalist Christian theocracy, a Ku-Klux-Klan utopian wet dream and the Fourth Reich. Then we have their counterparts where every perceived cultural slight and sin must be condemned by stripping all means of sustainability of life and forever be branded with the scarlet letter, where there is no room for growth or forgiveness. On one side you have the Hitlers, on the other you have the Puritans. Germany 1939 or Salem 1692?

There’s no wonder why I prefer the company of my cats to getting outside the confines of my apartment.

I don’t have an answer to this, because I don’t have any faith that people will calm the fuck down. Who knows? Maybe we’ll all burn in a Schopenhauerian hellscape where I just sit in the middle of it all roasting marshmallows. Or it will be the death of a thousand papercuts which, if it’s done correctly can be arousing. I mean if it’s going to be over, might as well have a hard on, right?

These are just some thoughts I had this week. I have been busy reading William Gaddis’s J R. A book that is almost entirely unattributed dialogue, I’ve tried to read this several times before never getting past the first 120 pages. But I’ve changed the way I read getting rid of all distractions including music, and most importantly allowing myself to read slowly. And by slowly, I mean I can only get through about 25 pages in each sitting. It’s taken me three weeks to get through 3/4 of the book. THE END IS IN SIGHT!!!! And I have to say the hype of how genius the book is is I think justified.

I can’t believe it’s already October. I’m in Europe late next month to the beginning of December. Then it’s 2023. Fuck.

I can’t believe it’s taken me nearly 43 1/2 years, but I finally own a fucking fountain pen! A FOUNTAIN PEN! Look at it!

Granted this is a cheap version of a fountain pen, a Pilot Metropolitan Collection with a fine-point nib available for purchase at chez Amazon for only $17.50. But in the weekend I’ve had it, it hasn’t ripped through any paper or had any ink accidents. It is brass and not plastic which makes it feel a lot more permanent. And of course it is refillable which does, in a sense, make it permanent and not disposable.

I bought this because I wanted something to help me start reading again, and doing it a bit more seriously and critically. As anyone who follows me on Goodreads or StoryGraph, you’ll see that I finished the following books since the start of the month:

• Queer by William S. Burroughs
• Communions by Adam Lehrer
• Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders
• On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong

And that I have started JR by William Gaddis again.

I wanted something to help me jot things down, converse with books, and the pretention of a fountain pen I thought would be perfect. Yes, I realize I am saying that I bought a fucking pen because I thought it would help me read better. And yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds. But of all the things I have bought impetuously, this is probably one of the cheaper things I have purchased. It’s not like I purchased 15 books or anything. Um…

Because my mind can’t comprehend the news that just broke without going hysterical and cry out the sky is falling, I will instead present a poem I created throughout the day from random snippets from social media and work emails.

Vaginal dryness sucks 
You have no idea how much this hurt 
Maintenance de routine. Pas grave.
You deserve this special offer
It's been too long

Happy Walpurgisnacht! While I don’t know where to plant my maypole, I do know that things will start to heat up. I don’t know what will happen, but even at this jaded stage of life I’m at, there remains a thrill in anticipation on what might happen.

One thing I do know is that my bank account will be deducted in the morning for my rent. See? Not everything will be a joy.

This is a little late since I was in Berlin for my birthday and whatever goulash of chemicals and electricity in my brain couldn’t bring me to write this. Let’s just say that I was in a whole lot of pain since my sciatica came back a week before I left. The pain then transferred to my right hip. All in all it made everything difficult: walking, sitting, lying down. There is not any moment where pain and discomfort didn’t affect me. Actually I’m still in pain, but it’s more of a dull sustained thing rather than anything sharp and debilitating.

So that’s to say that one of my regrets of going to Berlin was I was not able to be quite as ambulatory as I had wanted. I did manage to go out do some record shopping, go to the Philharmonic, go to a Michelin-starred restaurant and take some pictures, but I really wanted to do more. But, isn’t that the regret of most vacation-goers?

I do not regret the luxury I indulged in however. Because of my back pain, I decided to use my points to upgrade to business class for my flights on Air France. That was such a good decision with the lie-flat seats and wonderful menu. However, can someone explain to me why there are no non-stop flights from LA to Berlin? Connecting at Charles De Gaulle was a fucking pain and took forever to get between terminals.

I also stayed at the Ritz Carlton right in Potsdamer Platz. To tell you how nice it was, they gave me a birthday cake! Not pictured was my meal at Nobelhart and Schmutzig which was close by my hotel — a 10-course Michelin-starred meal that featured hyperlocal sourced ingredients because they forbid pictures being taken and urge people to savor the moment. Again, no regrets.

I realize as this thing called life goes on is that there’s a whole lot of bullshit that clouds our lives and makes it seem so much more complicated that it needs. Like all of these self-help bullshit artists and cloying folks who want people to like them who say that travel is deep and self-realizing is at its heart just bullshit and unnecessary. No, in all of my trips I have not gained any deeper insights into myself. No, I have not gained any deeper insight to the world as a whole. All I know is I just want to be happy, do what I want to do as long as I’m not causing harm to others and want as little misery as possible. It’s bad enough my body betrays me with pain, so I just refuse to deal with pain from others. And not everything needs to have a deeper significance, life doesn’t need to have meaning.

So this is 43. This is the reason I’ve started to get tattoos. This is the reason why last weekend I decided to get my first piercing: a septum ring that I had actually wanted for decades. I’m just here just trying to be happy. Thanks for the self-indulgence.

Anyhow here are some more photos from Berlin: