February 6, 2019
It tastes like raspberry mint. It smells like rain and pine needles. It’s mostly cloudy, it’s grinning during the comedown.
It looks like finger guns and mouthing “my guy” at yourself in the mirror. It’s Marianne Williamson talking about love. It’s Greta and Grimes and Catholic TikTok. It’s a negotiation and an open circuit and a hand on a rudder in a really big sea. It’s real but not hyperreal, and it’s full of texture and detail.
It sounds like the rumble-tumbly “plan goin into action” bass percussion theme from Bojack. It sounds like Not and Second Song and oh baby and Wigwam. It sounds like Normal Fucking Rockwell! and Father of the Bride. It sounds like cars on the street below a balcony over music from the other room.
It feels like a new laptop with a softer keyboard and less clutter. It feels like putting your phone away. It feels like an ad lib that landed better than you expected. It feels like giving better advice than you knew you could give and taking better advice than you thought you could take. It feels like checking in on your friends and it feels like comfortable eye contact. It feels like leaving the theater in the afternoon. It feels like activating a glute.