traipsing

Ballard. 

it took me a long time to get this fucking photo. such a twitchy and restless world we careen blindly through. 

flowerification. 

(one of) my happy place(s), volunteer park. someone once called such spots "perches", as in everyone should have a perch, a place they can go to write and think and brood. I consider this different from the concept of a third place. perches insinuate contemplation. weird thing is, I usually sit, or perch, in a different spot right around the corner from this particular statue, and thus had never fucking noticed it until yesterday. and I've been coming here for years. 

my new habit whilst watching Chopped. What Would Someone Who Doesn't Fucking Cook Do? I was unfamiliar with beef tips. apparently they are far too lean to be tartare-acceptable. and I had to look up moustalevria (not "moist sativa", autocorrect, Jesus), hence the scrawled definition. this is a fun exercise, downright raucous really!, because it shows me how much commonplace shit I'm stupid about.

scowly insouciance with brick filter. 

"perfection is instant despair. instant despair. nothing to do with time." 

Iris Murdoch