𝒲𝑒𝓁𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝑒𝒷𝓈𝒾𝓉𝑒! 𝒲𝑜𝓌 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝑒𝓍𝓉 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝓅 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝑔𝑒, 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉'𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒? 𝐼 𝒷𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉'𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝐼𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓂𝒶𝓎𝒷𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓁𝓊𝓃𝒸𝒽; 𝐼 𝑜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉. 𝒜𝓃𝓎𝒽𝑜𝓌, 𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝑒𝓍𝓉 𝓈𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓁𝓁, 𝓁𝑒𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝒶 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓋𝒾𝓈𝒾𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝑒𝒷𝓅𝒶𝑔𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒻𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌 𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝒶𝓎𝒷𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝒷𝑜𝑜𝓀𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒾𝓉 𝓈𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓋𝒾𝓈𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝑒𝒷 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓌𝓈𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝒸𝒽𝑜𝒾𝒸𝑒. 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒶𝓁𝓈𝑜 𝒻𝒶𝒾𝓇𝓁𝓎 𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝒶 𝒽𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓈𝑜𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓁 𝓂𝑒𝒹𝒾𝒶 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓉𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂𝓈 𝓈𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒, 𝒻𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌, 𝓈𝓊𝒷𝓈𝒸𝓇𝒾𝒷𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒶 𝓁𝑜𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒻𝓊𝓃 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝒹, 𝒾𝒻 𝒾𝓉 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒾𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝒸𝓎, *𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔* (𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓀-𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓀) 𝓂𝓎 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓉𝓈. 𝒪𝒽, 𝒶𝓁𝓈𝑜, 𝐼 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑔𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒'𝓈 𝒥𝑒𝒻𝒻 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝓁𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝒫𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓁𝓅𝒽𝒾𝒶 𝓃𝑜𝓌. 𝑀𝒶𝓎𝒷𝑒 𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝓁𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝒹𝒾𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓊𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉'𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝐼 𝓁𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓃𝑜𝓌. 𝒪𝒦, 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝐼'𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝓊𝓅 𝑒𝓃𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓆𝓊𝑒𝑒𝑒... 𝒮𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝓁𝒾𝒸𝓀𝒾𝓃' 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃'! 𝒞𝓁𝒾𝒸𝓀𝒾𝓃'... 𝒮𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃'...𝒶𝒽, 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓈𝓉𝓊𝒻𝒻 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒽 𝒾𝓂𝑜. 𝒜 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓂𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒷𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝓇𝑜𝓅-𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓊 𝒹𝒾𝓇𝑒𝒸𝓉𝓁𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓌, 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓇𝑒𝒽𝑒𝓃𝓈𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝓊𝓂𝒷 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝒿𝑒𝒸𝓉𝓈 𝐼'𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝒹𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓈. 𝐻𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒶 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒹𝒶𝓎. 𝒢𝑜𝒷 𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈. 💨🤢
   K E Y:  ✄= art ✎= lit ♪= music ✪= video;  = highly recommended content

My car got stuck in the mud and David Bowie is dead

This is a post that will end with me complaining about a commercial radio station, but the most important takeaway is a lesson I learned from the original Star Wars trilogy.

I learned about David Bowie's death from my wife while I was going pee this morning at ~7:08AM. About 18 hours earlier I got our car stuck on the rain-soaked lawn of her boss's house. It was her job's annual holiday party, which was being held on January 11th for some reason. I was missing playoff football whilst ruining the grass of rich people. I wasn't embarrassed. I think I feigned embarrassment as the expected default emotion. It was my wife who parked on the grass anyway. I was only trying to right this wrong in the role of brave husband. They should have instructed us not to park there in the first place. This was actually all their fault. I was merely a conduit for the errors of others like a highway is the landing strip for catching dinner in the eyes of the red-tailed hawk.

David Bowie released ★ last Friday, an album which will almost certainly go down as one of the greatest artistic statements in the history of man. The music didn't necessarily have to be that good or interesting for this to be so. That it is is a testament to Bowie. Artist catches cancer, constructs concept album about death in secrecy, releases album on his 69th birthday and dies two days later. That is the artistic statement and it is perfect before you even


In the children's playroom at the rich people's house during the holiday party––religious statements scrawled on the chalkboard-painted wall (Luke x:xx, something like that)––the younger of the two kids who lived there put on a show of absurd entitlement. She was only four, but had already honed her selfish persona so perfectly it felt as though we were extras in the beginning of a movie. This was the setup. We wouldn't be sticking around for the redemption plot. We got our car out of the mud. Her lawn is ruined now but that point doesn't factor into the plot of the movie.

It's a God-awful small affair
To the girl with the mousy hair
But her mummy is yelling no
And her daddy has told her to go

But her friend is nowhere to be seen
Now she walks through her sunken dream
To the seat with the clearest view
And she's hooked to the silver screen

But the film is a saddening bore
For she's lived it ten times or more
She could spit in the eyes of fools

–David Bowie, "Life on Mars?"

I've never paid much attention to lyrics. But I will read the hell out of ★'s songbook. This art is owed as much. That's what I've just decided. Yesterday I committed to reading books again for the first time in probably three years or more. I'm not sure if I've finished a book during the lifespan of the spoiled brat mentioned earlier. I downloaded the Kindle for iPhone app and uploaded a pirated copy of Tao Lin's Eeeee Eee Eeee.

INTERLUDE: i'm at work right now and my boss is in the kitchen area.
i only come here on mondays and i work in a cubicle. i'm the only one
out here; everyone else has an office. my boss is making grunting
noises in the kitchen and i can't look to see what he's doing. he's
cleaning something? i just can't. i love him though. i love everyone.
this will all be over soon.

The most important lesson from Star Wars is the idea that you must never give into hate^. This might be the most important lesson in life on the whole and it's definitely the most important lesson ever to be inserted into a billion-dollar movie franchise. It's such a simple notion but I found it so impactful and, frankly, touching. I hadn't watched the original three movies since I was a kid. There's nothing to gain in being an "Angry Young Man" because you'll eventually be an angry old man (I think that's the point of the song^). You'll be Darth Vader. And, though it may be ambiguous what actually kills you, you will need to die to redeem yourself. There are bridges you can't cross back after a certain point.

I'm 34. I've lived almost exactly half of my life (if I live as long as David Bowie). I have an anger in me that breeds hate and contempt. So much of me and the idea of "me," which I've long spent time––many conscious and unconscious hours––crafting, wants to hate that religious family, their greed and selfishness. Wants to hate all THE MEN who came out from the party to 'help' pull my stupid Honda Fit out of the muck, wants to hate what that stands for: the need to be a part of the manly activity, the mainly concern, to give their $0.02 on the manly topic of getting a car out of the mud. I couldn't care less and I was behind the wheel.


The Powerball Jackpot is over a billion dollars. They draw the six numbers this coming Wednesday night to determine the winner. Only they've been trying to determine a winner for weeks now. They literally can't give this money away. I hope they never find a winner and the jackpot gets so large that it becomes a monetary sum which is basically unquantifiable. I'm not sure what that number is, though. Most people are probably way more creative than me when it comes to capitalism.

Capitalism is, by nature, a hateful system. Wanting is hateful. Constantly comparing your life to the life of others is hateful, a form of self-hate. I'm trying to ignore the lottery. I just took a picture with my laptop's webcam and photoshopped it into the Powerball logo (see above). That is my contribution to LotteryFever™. I made it seem like I am the "A" in Jackpot. "Old Paz. He really put the 'A' in 'Jackpot'." That's what people say about me, or maybe that's what they'll say about me after I'm dead. Shalom.

(I really hope this content is going OK. I know it's all over the place. I woke up about exactly at 4:59AM and couldn't get back to sleep this morning. PS That was the time they announced David Bowie had died, FYI. I was having a dream about Bill Murray guest-starring in an episode of 30 Rock, which it turns out, he never actually did. I woke up with a weird upper back pain. Eventually, I started reading Eeeee Eee Eeee on my phone in bed, which is a book you don't really read so much as 'let the series of disparate sentences wash over you'––I highly recommend this book re sufferers of sleepless stupors. Oh well. That alliteration just now was annoying, wasn't it? I've now spent almost two hours writing this thing. I should probably mention the bit about the radio. I really did see a red-tailed hawk on the highway. Yesterday, in fact. Coming home from the party. My spirit animal. I bought sunflower seeds at Rite Aid before I got to work.)

I was flipping around the radio dial on my drive from Philadelphia to Princeton this morning. I felt it was 'important' that any rock station––and certainly any classic rock radio station––only play David Bowie songs today. XPN 88.5 in Philly did a phenomenal job, broadcasting a 100% Bowie mix of deep cuts and hits. I was most put off by WMGK 102.9, Philly's biggest commercial classic rock station. They were doing a dumb morning zoo money giveaway, and the next time I checked they were playing Boston.

I understand about indecision
But I don't care if I get behind
People livin' in competition
All I want is to have my peace of mind

– Tom Scholz, "Peace of Mind"

I love Boston's first record. It's perfect.