2024

I have a super-hot fantasy that I can’t tell you about!

I fed my blog to an AI and it understood me better than most humans do.

I swapped the subway for a bike, and lost two hours of daily writing time. So naturally, I built an AI-powered voice memo pipeline to recapture it.

The core fantasy is unchanged, cast in amber. But my relationship to it — and to the distance between fantasy and reality — has shifted profoundly.

I didn’t cry for thirty years. Now I cry every day, and I’ve never been more grateful.

To what extent is what’s good for the goose truly what’s good for this particular gander?

Some helpful rules if you find yourself in the presence of my cock.

I’m a block from Serena, and I’m not going to tell her.

Remembering Serena’s broken promises and (my) magic wand.

Bittersweet sadness