Creation myth number ninety-two million and four.


I was up on a ladder today swapping out light fixtures in the new bedroom. Probably my butt-crack was showing.

That is how you really look like a tradesman, if you’re interested.

Anyway, now we have three big old paper moons over our heads instead of little dainty frosted glass pendants of orange and blue and green.

They looked like somebody else, man, not like us.

It’s way better now.


So, one thing I am learning is about breathing. Just taking a big breath in and holding it for a minute and then letting it out, letting it all out, slowly and fully, and pausing, and then filling up again.

It’ll take five years off you, every time you do it.

Never mind the slow, full, deep, ujjayi breathing.

That will do things to you that are untoward, man.

The dog always freaks out when I do that.

She wants to get in my mouth.


It’s very spiritually creamy, let me tell you.


Another thing is we got rid of about ten linear feet of books today. Good books, too. But they needed to find a new home. And we packed the bed of the pickup full of clothes and homewares and drove them off to the Salvation Army and gave that shit away.

Open, open, open!

We do this, I don’t know, two or three times a year? We live in a 950 square foot bungalow, so we don’t have a lot of extra room for shit. And we are lean. We don’t bring a lot in to our home, and we mostly follow the “one in, one out” rule. But still, it piles up on us. I don’t know how people who don’t regularly purge can survive.

We have never once gotten rid of something and regretted it.

You get started, man, look out. It can sweep like a fire through you. Burning and purifying, destroying everything that is weak and brittle and used up, and hardening and tempering the good stuff, leaving behind only smoke and diamonds.

just like life, man.


The house feels like all diamonds now, diamonds and the acrid smell of the conflagrated past.


We are shorn, and stripped, and lean, and ready for it.


Now I need a goddamn tumbler full of frozen vodka and my woman and the leather sofa and some shit to watch on the fee-vee.

Do not fuck with me, man. I will make you rue the day.


Namaste, bitches.