I landed in Kansas City and saw that Rich Homie Quan OD'd. I hoped it wasn't real but it was.

Counts: a struggle with quantification. Boiling the world into calculus. Maps as cartesian space. Mapping non-euclidean space. Stanley Brouwn, Charlie Brown, Flat Stanley, pictatorial canons, cannons, hellfire, poison gas, the trenches, the trenches.

What XYZ to do a MF — another equation. The value of words, the value of words, the value of words.

The idea of writing a fragment, rather than finding a fragment. Of sculpting a fragment rather than excavating a fragment. Twombly/Pound/Antiquity/the Mediterranean. Not My History. Catalogs of catalogs. Scatalogs of eschatalogy. Where do the words go? Carved into rock, not yet, but soon, always, never.

Work work work work work work — *patois accent*. The matter of always being a stranger, a foreigner. But some places like them more than others now. The need to be liked, the need to assimilate, to codeswitch. Flipping words, flipping bricks, turning tricks, what that money make a bitch do, so on and so forth.

This certain strain of narcissism, this belief in genius — talking shit, talk my shit, that my flow is rare, inimitable, a collection of a catalogs, a compendium, an almanac, an encyclopedia, a world. And to what end it all serves me

Service, to the self. War, with the world. War, which never ended. Empire, Slavery, -isms, I don't want to sleep I just wanna geek. I Promise I Will Never Stop Going In, and how death changes a promise. Going In, after an ending, but not The Ending, it still goes on, it echoes, leaving traces, etching into stone.

The landscape was eroded by a river. Perhaps the Missouri is like The Danube, only the mythology of its history is largely oral. In a sense it becomes unknowable, under those definitions. In a sense

Military Industrial Worship Complex. Like a temple. These rituals, smoking, drinking, consuming. Django voice. Bread and circuses. I watched The Hunger Games on an airplane months ago and became weirdly emotional. I might take under 10 flights this year. For the first time since 2020. Max B — I Need More Money. Jack me or Clap me. Slop me or Top me. Trap or die, u know how i rock