Something the brilliant Chion wrote recently reminded me of things I don't write about much lately: I only recently found that my life was not about what I thought it was about at all. It appears that what really matters to me is the complete opposite; I've been running headlong in the wrong direction for longer than I want to think about. More, I'm deliciously pleased with this discovery, which seems like a small but perfectly turned gift.
Hello, thirties. I think we're going to get along just fine.