Red Rot

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The cylinder and the pyramid

I almost bought decanters and whiskey rocks shaped like a cylinder and a pyramid. I refrained. I’m not clear on the impulse that makes us want some things and not want other things. It’s not clear what I value.

My best friend’s daughter wears only mismatched socks. Her father called it whimsical.

In Paris last fall I saw the Picasso red and blue show at the Musee d’Orsay. He was prolific at a young age. There were erotic sketches he drew for friends. One had a border of arches made of circumcised penises. It was youthful. You might say whimsical.

I’ve spent the last few years growing my career. Hustling. Navigating the politics. Failing and also succeeding. I never touched that part of me that wants to build toward no clear end. The part that has goals divorced from need and risk aversion.

Well baby, I’m back, in my Jesus year. Thirty-three and winning the prize money after breaking my hand. As Lincoln says, you ain’t gonna win the golden gloves cryin’.


11:34 p.m. - 2019-01-04

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