On inside jokes

I watched half of Marriage Story last night. Then at 10 PM I got extremely high, so high that time started feeling stretchy in weird ways, gooey like nectar, and I kept tunneling into weird rabbit holes of thought, and S ordered pizza from Tony's and an entire pint of Talenti caramel ice cream and we ate that while he watched My Hero Academia and I read Griefbacon on Substack and kept mouthing “wow” because I can't believe that there are so many strangers still out there in the world who can thoroughly blow my mind with the things they do with words. Every letter drilled clean through my brain. She wrote about how “Maps" by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs—one of my favorite songs—is the best song of the last 20 years, and she wrote about how Phantom Thread—one of my favorite movies—reveals how relationships are all about power games, playing strong or weak so space can crack open for light, for love. If no one is weak there's no space for love. She wrote about how The National has major divorced dad energy, which... well, you know if you know, and if you don't don't bother. I kept thinking as I read her writing that life is a series of inside jokes.

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