Tension between wanting to write things of value and keeping this blog as regularly updated as possible, both because of the usefulness of practice and habit to changing emotional and intellectual patterns, but also because it is better to build a record than not; even an incomplete, limited, and less polished one.

I have been reading Augustine. You, the joy I was so slow to hear, said nothing as I ranged father out from you—I, loftily downfallen, actively paralyzed, sowing arid and ever more arid sadnesses. Good to feel, suddenly, on the subway, like you want to burst into tears, or like tears are constantly on the verge of coming, like you are opening up.

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