3.20.2025

At a live taping of Taylor Tomlinson’s show. It’s a manic affair and feels haphazard but no one is concerned. I try to talk to her and she plays me off. A woman next to me puts something on my arm, a hairpin, I think. I don’t know this person. She is small with an odd way of speaking. She indicates that we are now bonded. I look for someone else to talk to. A series of Lyft rides all over L.A. I try to explain to someone that I’ve been all over the U.S., almost every state and major city and I don’t feel a sense of wonder anymore. Hollywood feels like any other asshole neighborhood. Back to the studio and I’m trying to get a job. We don’t really hire anyone anymore, they say. These are the last days of the industry. And then of course there's a fire or a flood coming anyway.

Monastery. Medieval monks and nuns. There’s tension but the real concern is this mouse. Scientists are interested in the mouse, they want to kill it and dissect it, determine why it’s so intelligent. The mouse sees an image on a television screen of the world outside. It enters the image. I go too to help guide it and we both get lost.

I work at a grocery store. I just show up and now I’m the manager. People I worked jobs with twenty, thirty years ago are here. Deceased friend in a butcher’s apron. If I seem a little emotional, he says, it’s because I’m trying to get my hands on some lambs for Easter. They’re really expensive this year. Did you try calling Cadillac? I say. Yeah I’ve tried everywhere.

*this week's posts are accompanied by the paintings of Mike Donohoe - more on him and the series in Friday's Weekly Digest. Here's his Bluesky for now: @kane4748.bsky.social