I’m far too worn out from the past two days of amazing weekendness to possibly write a retrospective. Happenstance and serendipity dominated the last two days, which is really the most you can hope for out of life.

“I see,” you said, “We are the sun, we are the moon, we are the streetlight and we are the rain. We are the earth and we are the clouds and we are nothing and we are everything and we are the dark and we are the light. We are each other and all we have is now.”

Puerto Rico is an amazing place. This was a swimming hole just down from where we were staying, on the border of the El Yunque rainforest. Birds would occasionally dive in from the branches above, snagging fish and crayfish. Several times I spooked basking iguanas, who in their retreat would quickly get distracted by scurrying insects. I could only assume they were delicious to warrant such errant distraction.

For the full effect, you should listen to the recording I made of the water flowing when viewing these photos. There’s a certain zen to the sound of water over rock, outside of the context of those hoaky CDs one finds in Target.

My frequent artistic collaborator, Adam Morse, and I have finally launched a project we’ve been cooking up for some time now. Play the Next Track is a back-and-forth collaborative creation of digital pieces based on a particular song. We’ll be updating it with a new chapter on the tenth, twentieth, and thirtieth of every month.

Now, if one were to speak quite literally – “I have to go give a crap.” – the meaning changes altogether. Because “giving a crap” isn’t actually depositing waste matter in the toilet, but rather caring about a certain topic or issue.

The english language is silly sometimes.

Is it the nature of intelligent life to slowly destroy itself?

I fought the law and the law won.

I just wish it was for something cooler than jaywalking.

I have a serious, somewhat hostile problem with individuals (read: Americans) who own more than one car.

Fig A: An Annotated Guide to Counter-Productivity

My meetings usually consist of me bringing a sheet of paper and a pen so that I look like I’m interested what they have to tell me. Unfortunately, the result is the exact opposite, as I then spend the next hour listlessly doodling. First in the margins, so as to leave room for the notes that are sure to come. Then, when I realize that it is but a vain attempt, the drawings invade the center territories of the sheet.

And this, my friends, is why the Mustache needs to be reintroduced into American politics. Because who wants to fuck with that?