i wanted to post the first half of an unfinished essay venn diagraming dwayne johnson and vin diesel as public personas but then i read it and was not happy about myself. here's a picture of death:

The one thing about losing your keys

you feel like an asshole for publicly worrying about losing your keys. Afterwards, it seeps into your life as you begin to formulate the social equations necessary for recovering the important. What the fuck happened to your Dominicks Fresh Values card?

here at this bar that we're at, while we're talking about something that's been going on in popular culture that reminded me about my fantasy hockey team.

hold on, i have to check my fantasy hockey team

at least be honest about it.

death chats. death chats. death chats. death chats. death chats. death chats. death chats. death chats death chats death chats death chats death chats death chats death chats.

find your old drunk poetry, which you only write when you're drunk, because you never have the guts to attempt something as brash as a calculated line break when you're sober.

You have an empty day
ahead of you you drive
to buy cigarettes for the break
they offer when you see red
lights light ahead of you
indicating you should
stop but you don’t do it
in time your knees crunch back
into your shoulders so
you’re closer than you’ve ever been
to sucking your own dick.

Ashtray, candle, beer can

I am reading a book while my friend sleeps.  Soft snoring and football in the other room make the heat from the register seem futile.  To detail the small moments that fill an overarching blanket of undetermined emotion is the only way I've found to document and understand the whole damn thing.  And really, it doesn't work quite right.

the mezzanine is somewhere between a fun little romp and the best commentary on being white, ever.

just keep writing things in your google drive. become satisfied with them and keep them there. forever.

blackout wednesday is a fucking stupid term, but it totally makes sense.

I'm trying to deconstruct the allure of hometown bars around holidays.  Post-high school, pre-family years back at your parents with nothing to do but drink with old friends.  That's cool.  Actually, it's really cool.  But why aren't we all just drinking beers in a basement or walking around old neighborhoods with a bottle of wine?  There's some illogical appeal to running into old acquaintances and then having awkward, unfulfilling 2 minute conversations with them over the enormous sound of some stupid song you've heard a couple times while waiting in line for a Subway sandwich.  The conversations you want to get out of the second after you see the other person, make the widened eye contact of recognition and start walking toward each other.  The hugs are uncomfortable, you don't remember the names of the two other people your old pal is with, and your beer cost a dollar and a half more than it should have. I dunno man.  Maybe it's like drugs where the chronic user keeps using even though they don't enjoy it. 

vote r die

Today, some people in America are voting on who will be the president of America and on other things.

Last night, I finished White Noise by Don Delillo, and I think that's much more important to the scope of American living.

if it is it is