"What is the spiritual purpose of the arts?" -- Harold Klemp

Dear blog,

I have photographs to upload--but I want to write about my demands/desires.

I want to open up a portal. Answer: why do dogs die in literature? Answer: permanent impermanent fragments.

I'm back in Chicago. It is good to be cared for by my beautiful roommates. I forgot how much I love lying in my bed looking at adornments friends have made.

I am falling in love with Chicago again--for the first time in a year. I am glad I have a home here. 

I put milk in my coffee because I was thinking about my friend Srinidi. 

I hoped photos would be the elemental-in-between past and future, a shimmery invitation beyond physicality/limitation. Like making milk.

I have decided not to post any photos. My phone is broken.

I am going to write a letter to my friends Sara and Raina while the wind presses my window.