The question, again, is what to write about, and what purpose writing serves. E told me about reading an entry I wrote while driving upstate with L & F. I talked with the previous mechanism with L2, and A talked about M's blog. Of course that circles back to here and now, what this clattering of keys in Z's living room while him and C sleep is doing, what purpose it serves. When Z took me to Nest, I took a picture of this piece of art they had that read "One Friend Can Change Your Whole Life". I liked the way it extruded from the background it was set on, but it also made me think about and feel extremely grateful for my friendships, especially with Z. When J introduced me to A, she asked how we met. I replied that we "met outside" and I thought about how many people I met that night: M, J, Z, J, G, M2 (who pulled up tonight with C2), but the night I think about with Z was at L's party where we talked about Chick Strand and then how later that summer he offered to let me sleep on his couch, and how many nights I've spent on his couch since. It's the type of thing that's impossible to pay back, but the idea of paying it back doesn't even really make sense — in this state my mind jumps to Derrida and the gift, the impossibility of reciprocity, etc., really the most important thing is to be as good as a friend as people, especially Z, have been to me. It's the type of love and generosity that touches my heart in a really deep way.

The usual recap: what is now the day before yesterday was my birthday. I didn't really want to do anything for itself, but enough people knew it was my birthday, which was nice. I got some texts, some wishes, Z made me a cake and got me Issey cologne, S got me a book which I'm worried I left at J2's or at the bar, likewise with the card that J made for me that I slipped into the sleeve of the book, but I assume it's at either place and I can pick it up tomorrow. I replied to some messages and spent most of the day working on the book for Z, N, and I's show — it came together really well, I'm excited for people to see the book-work, I think it's strong, like the show, and is the type of work that I'm proud and happy of. That rare feeling of feeling good, without catches, clauses, exceptions, etc.. I met S and J and Dim Sum Go Go, we ate food, we went to [Gallery Show], ran into L and A2, went to the afterparty with S, J, and A, had the situation with the host when we appointed ourselves DJ's, I texted H about it on the way back, my phone died, I ate the cake Z made, and it was really good. A3 pulled up later that night, it was a great way to spend the night. The previous night, when the night shifted into the next day, I watched The Italian Job and Miller's Girl with Z and C while polishing off 375 ml of Jim Bean I bought earlier. A fun night again, I felt happy, grateful, blessed.

The night of the "celebration of life and friends": saw a good amount of people, felt like the right amount, friends I was happy to see, who want me to stay if I can, if the job dominoes work in my favor. Went from the bar to J2's place with Z, C, N2, and A3 — did some of A3's blow. Talked a lot, "about everything and nothing" — there's a French film where that phrase appears in the subtitles. Maybe it's Paris Belongs To Us — in any case, the main thing in my heart is the strongest sense of gratefulness and love for what I've been blessed with as I move forward. Arctic Monkeys lyrics come to mind (lol): last night what we talked about, it made so much sense, but now the haze has ascended it don't make no sense anymore. We'll see where tomorrow picks up — of course tomorrow is today.

An unexpected continuation: as L's 26 celebration crossed into my 26 celebration. I did more of A3's blow tonight. I'll surely feel like shit in the morning, but I've reconciled with that. We talked in hushed voices in the living room while Z and C slept. Once again, I was filled with this sense of blessedness and gratefulness for the people around me. At the bar I saw J3 and we talked about how we were doing in relatively honest ways — being down bad, but coping with it well, learning to cope with things with age, as we both are around the same period of getting older on the calendar. I drank and I drank and I didn't feel that drunk. I still feel relatively sober, but that's probably the blow. It's 3:39 am and I'm thinking about how I don't have to subtract 3 hours from the clock anymore, and how it's actually somewhat late, wondering when I'll wake up, wondering when I'll sleep.

I used to be anxious about how honest I am — candor is probably the proper word, etymology naturally jumps to mind: "openness of mind, impartiality, frankness, freedom from reserve or disguise," c. 1600, from Latin candor "purity, openness," originally "whiteness, brightness, radiance," from candere "to shine, to be white" (from PIE root *kand- "to shine"). It was borrowed earlier in English (c. 1500) in the Latin literal sense of "extreme whiteness." — the relation of whiteness to honestly is fascinating. I think I'm fine with it now. Maybe this is part of the growing older thing, understanding the self, accepting the self, and trying to make changes in the ways that appear most worthwhile, in order to live a better life, as the path continues to delineate itself. I tell myself I'll get better with these things as time passes, hoping that the right dominoes tip over in the coming increments of time.

Now that I've done the inscription of the events of life in such a way, the question, as stated at the beginning, what to write about reemerges, and what to write seems more concise. I think of the new projects, the work in the works, the different aspects of it all, the function of text, its relation to the image, to sound, to the landscape of media — and I think of talking to C2 and C3 at the bar about different mediated experiences. I yawn, which is a good thing. I let it wear off, i let sleep creep in.