Saw “The Descendents” last night (not about the band). Dreamt about hearing Speed Bump’s husband tell me how it was easier to wine and dine a prostitute than deal with her… Tried to get her, then, to go talk to him when he got home, felt like she’d been so worn down she wasn’t making a real effort. But I pushed her to, but I saw he wasn’t really taking any interest in what she was doing, either. One of us was drawing a picture.

If he’s willing to go to counseling he’s at least willing to try. I wish Speed Bump would see that and genuinely do the same thing. But she’s holding a part of her heart back.

The dream also involved watching a college softball team at a mall in Orange County, being dressed up in Giants gear possibly at a Mariners (?) game, and the family of the Spanish-language announcer.

I just want to scream, “Hello!
My god, it’s been so long
Never dreamed you’d return
But now, here you are
And here I am”

Sage advice

Once it was mentioned to the Prophet (pbuh) about two women who found difficulty in fasting. The Prophet (pbuh) called those women and asked them to vomit in separate bowls, when fresh meat and blood was found in the vomit of those women. The Prophet (pbuh) said that these women did backbiting. One of the adverse effects of sin while fasting is it becomes very difficult to fast. The one who fasts embracing taqwa won’t even feel like he is fasting. The fasting will trouble a person to the extent he dirties his eyes and tongue.
Allahu alam

Who’s “loathe to admit it?” I’m not the only one saying capitalism is fundmentally incompatible with democracy, for years.

It would be nice, I think, once, to imagine that she was taken away from me by some malevolent force in this awful age, but I know the truth of that: she went away, simply, because I wasn’t enough back then, because those were the days before I yearned for anything…

It’s weird that it doesn’t really seem that weird that I haven’t talked to my brother in almost a year.

Another Therria dream. This time it didn’t even start out as one—it was about finding an office/place and then the bridge exploding from a perspective where it’s not really in real life, but then somehow I was trying to show her how much I’d missed her + get us to make up.

Pretentious, but that’s why he’s so good

God is just out my back door, yet I choose not to visit. I would rather sit alone and scheme on how to be remembered, on what more that I can do here to cement the evidence that I once walked these roads with you. It is a futile exercise. I know it is, and yet I persist.