I've been repeating this incredibly unhealthy routine of: waking up, starting a project, getting hungry, making breakfast, working for 5+ hours and getting psychedelically hungry, eating toast and kale, going to town, getting hungry again, going home, continuing earlier said project, and eating toast, again.

Nevertheless, I'm usually productive. Somehow even as my metabolism deteriorates I can still focus. I came out today with half a Lee Dorsey cover (really more of an educational effort than something meaningful), and a seriously hip instrumental ripe for dub treatment. (Oh, in case you missed it, I'm perfectly obsessed with Jamaican music.)

I'd never seen Pete & Pete until yesterday! Very funny! So, funny, actually!

And a bit of Harold Lloyd, Safety Last, also quite good too. The racist characterizations of the black characters in it do still rub wrong, though.

That is about it for hard facts. Now, onto softer ones:

Chloe...or, Felix? How many times has someone introduced themself to you twice, differently? Whichever, she charms me to no end, and I don't know how or why. She has a sternness (her somewhat severe eyebrows, short hair, thick neck) that I find alluring. Not much of a story, but thankfully I'm feeling irresponsible right now.

I think it's possible that one can be addicted to love -- not just as a poetic fancy but as a manifestly physical and psychological drive. Of course everyone seeks approval and enjoys attention, but what I have in mind is much more. Love can become compulsive; the individual becomes dependent on its magic for their everday well-being, and fervently seeks it out, even creating it. I wouldn't say I act this way -- I think I'm far too solitary and meek -- although I'm certainly attracted to and inspired by the idea of being in love, which perhaps makes me more inclined towards believing I'm there when I'm not. It's my belief that my last partner was and is addicted to love; it seems to explain a lot about her behavior, and the manner of our relationship.

And going further into my own head: what a nebulous idea love is. It's certainly a bit narcissistic but that's to radically abbreviate it. Not just a mirror but a positively-charged mirror; your hopes and dreams come back tenfold; it defies the law of conservation of energy, at least on the face of it and in our ideal form. Or maybe it's less than that; not magic but serially favorable mistakes, knowingly or unknowingly; or taking pleasure in the certainty of a willful and mutually sustained cause-effect. For some other, earlier night, for sure...