You’re reading something important, a real book – you’re reading Wittgenstein on the beach. ‘Wittgenstein’s Mistress’ if you’re extremely smart (like me). You didn’t bring a towel or a blanket because you weren’t expecting to wind up here, it just sorta happened this way. Your natural desire is to head towards water.
You take off your shirt and lay down in the warm sand, the shirt doing no more than crumpling up and adding some support to your lower back. You swallow an Advil down with a Coca-Cola, reminding yourself that this is the perfect combination of substances: sugar, caffeine, carbon dioxide, painkiller. The thought bounces around as you try to source it – I bet this is a Ray Peat quote. Maybe it’s mine. Maybe I was just thinking of the good doctor at the same time.
“I don’t hate doing this.”
Eventually, you get up. You’re reminded of a ‘real-life’ task that needs to be done after making the cardinal mistake of looking at your phone instead of looking at the water, the sky, bathing suit girls. Your skin is damp enough to claim a layer of sand as your own. Using the t-shirt as an instrument of penance, you whip your back repeatedly in an effort to brush off the excess. This is a ritual with no victory. The sand follows you home in your hair, behind your ears, in the waistband of your underwear.
A shower should fix this, yes.
After drying off, you lay on your half-made bed and notice the grit. The sand is now in the sheets. It must have been really deep into your hair. Maybe you just moved it around as you half-heartedly soaped yourself down. You swipe the linen with your hand but you feel more grains with every push. What’s now not in bed is on the floor, which you will pick up with your feet and move somewhere else in the house.
Sand at your desk, in your camera bag, on the kitchen counter.
The pattern-seeking part of your brain is wondering if there is a biblical allegory here – did Jesus say something about sand, maybe? He did walk alongside me on the beach (two sets of footprints), after all.
I type in ‘Jesus sand’ and it autocorrects to ‘Jesus sandals,’ which you can buy from retailers named ‘Hippie Shop,’ ‘Be Wild,’ ‘My Jerusalem Store.’ You can find them on Amazon for $15-50 bucks. You can download hundreds of stock images of guys dressed up as the Son of God, wearing ‘Jesus Sandals.’
I’m getting off track. Jesus. Sand.
He wrote something in the sand after finding a woman who committed adultery, but the words were quickly scuffed out by the feet of her accusers. ‘Sand’ becomes an emblem of forgiveness - written in dust, erased. Yes, okay. I get it now.
The sand I’m carrying around the house is reminding me that I should re-edit and re-upload the Lifestyle Zoo again.
I leaked it a few months ago and was instantly hit with a fairly nasty email from one of the Web3.0/Twitch darlings about taking ‘legal action’ against me over this one piece which called him a ‘grifter nerd’ and ‘gaylord loser.’ I, personally, would just have pretended I didn’t see it, but that’s just me. Anyways, I held off on the print version and pushed the Ukraine War Did Not Take Place ahead instead. Imagine calling your weirdo ‘art lawyer’ and getting them to write you a C&D saying ‘you called my client gay.’ I love it.
I doubt this gay NFT weenie would actually come after me/us/etc but i’m focused on getting my wife pregnant and I can’t deal with any legal nonsense – so I stuck it on the shelf for later and went back to having sex full-time.
TLZ has been sitting on a hard drive labelled ‘Building 7,’ languishing as an InDesign file for months and months. I guess I just realized today (at the beach) that I should just cut his name out and keep it moving.
So – uh – yeah, perhaps September 11th? Maybe? Probably not. I figure if I post about it that i’ll be forced to do it. Sometime in September.
It’s the only ‘fun’ book i’ll ever put out. It’s the only ‘easy’ book, too. That alone makes it worthwhile and ostensibly good. 44% less schizophrenic in text, despite covering exclusively schizo topics: psyopping yourself, trad larping, retard culture influencers, taking the sun+steel pill, ‘owning’ jokes, and a bunch of other extremely online things.
I should update it. I should add a few new things despite the discourse being so low lately. Not getting a Dimes Square essay from me, sorry.
Like I said earlier this month - with the summer ending, we move into cyberbully season. Might as well do it with God on our side.
“I’m holding myself accountable.”