what was that? is that all there is? who is this? this is it.

regurgitated, reiterated, reinstated

black & white and read all over again

it’s hard to put a finger on but I know it when I see it

If I really did pull the plug on this site in 2012 and all I had to look back on was a few 3-ring binders full of paper print outs, it wouldn’t be the same. The photos of photos cut & pasted onto cardboard and dropped in the mail are inspiring me to go back and find the photos in the archives and hold them up side by side, back to back, end to end, top to bottom. Seeing things in a new way. Retrospect. Nostalgia. A crusty old man complaining about the price of coffee… 

…and so on

and on

and on

8 Comments

I know it when I see it

the Ken Burns effect bro

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2025/11/17/on-the-calculation-of-volume-solvej-balle-book-review

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2025/11/17/on-the-calculation-of-volume-solvej-balle-book-review

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2025/11/17/on-the-calculation-of-volume-solvej-balle-book-review

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2025/11/17/on-the-calculation-of-volume-solvej-balle-book-review

she is glad to have found a playmate in the eighteenth of November

As I’m still making my way through this here November 18, I’m not so fired up to read a seven volume set on Tara as she groundhog-days her way through November 18 over and over and over and over and over and over. My life is that way as we speak and my job lends itself well to facilitating the farce. Like clockwork. I don’t need a watch, I can just look to my coworkers’ habits like a sundial. It's undeniable proof of the same-shit-different-day pudding.

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