N. Likes

I have a meditation practice. This morning, I revisited a slightly deeper part of that practice. To excellent effect.

I feel some – but only a little – empathy for Jeffrey Toobin.

There’s a kinship among those of us who are up before the sun, and a unique way we feel the years turn.

It’s hard to feel bad for a sociopath, but the tiny violins are playing.

A woman on the subway, mostly hidden, entirely captivating.

Loma toys are a MUCH better deal than Fleshlights.

I’m planning an office visit for you.

V cooks me dinner. I tie her up, and wand her, and fuck her face. And then, I make myself come remembering the evening.

V – remember V – is back in my life. And boy, am I glad.

The muse is fickle, and so am I.