Darwin was desperate for proof that animals wept. It wasn’t enough that houseflies hum in the key of F or that Dall sheep keep lifelong their horns, adding like trees a ring each year. Darwin wanted tears.
Being the only species that weeps was lonely, thought Darwin, dreaming of manic animals. No, it wasn’t enough that honey bees can count to four. Darwin wanted more.
Or less. Confess it— the reason why humans cry is the mess they fashion in comparison to the paradise they can imagine. Animals, if they imagine, must be less distressed by the severity of the disparity. Or maybe they have less disparity. Or less mess.
As to why Darwin hoped that animals cry we can only guess— which is a form of imagining, and could lead to the emergence of tears. Instead let us hum in the key of F and count to four or more. Or less, and know the aurora borealis as glimpsed through the fretwork of a construction crane is a metaphor for our brain and also an analogy for why we cry, all the while— like Darwin— humming against the immensity.
I read this on the Sheena Easton train printed on the acid-free archival-quality paper of The Threepenny Review and it changed my day
awkward socially to silky smooth any situationally
back slapping hand shaking small talking
there’s a spectrum for everyfuckingthing
the super recognizers you’ve read about on one end of the facial-recognition spectrum with the face-blind people at the other end
there are people like Stevil that can’t tell you what day it is or make plans involving a calendar on one end of the perpetual calendar spectrum while on the other extreme there are people that can tell you what day of the week your birthday will fall on in 2027 as well as what day of the week you were born back back back then in that year that you were born
There are people that use a highlighter to cross things out and a paragraph later use it again to highlight things and they expect you to know what they mean if you know what I mean
There are people that input an exact time into the microwave to reheat their lunch in the breakroom and there are people that eat their food at room temperature with a smile
20 years ago I poached this from Mudflap and reprinted it in one of the first issues of kickstand
For about 15 years as a commuter and a messenger I wore a bag on my right shoulder. Always on my right shoulder. From T2 to PAC to DANK with a brief interlude to an Ortlieb backpack and some legal messenger time with a DANK backpack I'd say 14 of those 15 years a one-strap bag was tugging on my right shoulder wearing holes in the right side of my shirts and jackets altering my skeletal system and the muscles that support it.
7.5 years ago I stopped wearing a one-shoulder bag but my right shoulder is still noticeably lower than my left and my right hip is noticeably higher than my left.
20 years later this cartoon speaks to me in a new way.
Dr 37 Mike gave me this book a couple three years ago and now that I’m a commuter zombie with some sitdown time built into my day I’ve finally read it. it’s pertnear 40 years old but I feel like it makes more sense than ever in these horseshit times we live in today these times of instant tap swipe gratification where’s my uber where’s my jimmy john where’s my amazon fresh. When news is only news for 24 seconds. Calm the fuck down and harden the fuck up. go for a walk from upstate New York to New Orleans in a pair of Chuck Taylors with a badass dog and a backpack.
Universal Harvester by John Darnielle
I got this book for my birthday it's a novel that takes place in and around a video store in Nevada, Iowa in the late 1990’s. so right off the bat I was hooked because I’ve been to Nevada and I know how to pronounce it and actually I’ve been to a lot of towns in Iowa and I really appreciate the Iowa landscape and references in the book. In addition I’ve lived through the be-kind-rewind years and I remember the look and feel of VHS tapes and video stores and VCRs. This book is a VHS sized paperback packed in a plastic VHS case. It’s perfect light-rail reading in a durable versatile package.
You Think It, I’ll Say it by Curtis Sittenfeld
I got this book at my local library it's a collection of short stories some of which you’ve probably already read in the New Yorker. I’m a big fan of a story that can take me some place I’ve never been or someplace I go all the time but I thought I was the only one that hung out there until I read of a character that goes there too and and and all that and more happens in 20 pages...
a rolling infomation kiosk like one big bundle of answers on wheels. these maps were my idea a couple months back when I was getting lots of questions about buildings located on campus. this week the maps were finished and installed on the entire fleet of bikes although one rider removed his map after only a few minutes of riding because of the glare bouncing off the map and up into his eyeballs.
yesterday I narrowly missed the opportunity to photograph a man taking a photograph of the map on my bike.
into and out of existence less is more everything you need nothing you don’t those who say don’t know those who know don’t say it’s the same on the weekend as the rest of the days radiating from or contracting to the original source it won’t go away it will only change shape from nothingness to nothingness between renewal and decay somewhere along the way anywhere nowhere everywhere
that photo was taken today but those words were sequenced in 2009
I was in New Jersey the other day and my dad - my biological father read those words aloud and brought them to fresh spot in my brain as I didn't make them up I just strung them together nine or ten years ago.
I'm not sure how long that phone booth has been there or how long it will continue to be there but the phone still works and please make your check payable to US West Communications and make sure the address reads clearly through the envelope window.
he'd like to lift us up but we're a very heavy load
May 14, 2018
On a bike your consciousness is small. The harder you work, the smaller it gets. Every thought that arises is immediately and utterly true, every unexpected event is something you’d known all along but had only forgotten for a moment. A pounding riff from a song a bit of long division that starts over and over, a magnified anger at someone, is enough to fill your thoughts.
not to the Doug Nufer-level but from the perspective of an average urban cyclist hopping on a cargo bike with an 8 foot wheel base and 200lbs of cargo you can't just hop that curb and run up those 5 stairs and lean it against the window while you drop that package.
but when you try to see it from the perspective of an average urban delivery driver in a giant truck hopping on a cargo bike opens up a lot of new possibilities between the streets there are plenty of handi ramps bike paths sidewalks and gravel trails