COVID again.

New year.

Opted for a Turkish bird and a Moroccan thing, rather than a Chimayo one. Kind of bummed about it, but also pretty stoked.

A long run of very detailed and complicated dreams, some of them taking several paragraphs to record. I often know the derivation of some of the imagery, but more likely it's totally mysterious. I started recording them in 2020, when, during Covid, I was having extremely vivid dreams. I'm not sure why the intensity comes and goes. I wish it would always stay. There's something very romantic about being moved by the images of one's own mind beyond one's control.

Bob Nickas's book, Corrected Proofs. Previously Unpublished, Uncollected, Unwanted, has been published by At Last Books. It includes a conversation Bob and I had for Ryan Foerster's Capitiali Aruoiust, which was published in 2021. Both are very affordable.

Made a BOOKS section.

I contributed to the Manhattan Art Journal and you should BUY A COPY.

I wrote an essay for the Davide Balliano show at Tina Kim.

Valdez and environs are certainly about as gonzo as that part of the world gets, I'd say.

There's a book for the show at Public Access.

I'm in a show at Public Access.

I fired my social media manager.

NY Times.

I owe several people thank you cards and a few more actual letters. Please bear with me.

Santa Barbara memorial service went better and worse than expected.

New York memorial service went better and worse than expected.

Took some time off.

I made a new artist book, called TO DO. Edition of 50. And I will soon have a new dropdown menu on the site, for books I've contributed to or made.

So... Watch out, I suppose.

I got a social media manager! Follow at @_noah_dillon. DO NOT HIT ME UP!

My work is in that big dumb show, "The Patriot," at O'Flaherty's. Wrote up in the Times and everywhere. And I even got to see it before the cops intervened.

Back on the World Wide Web!

Kind of a whole Dia day.

Added some new artworks to the menu. Photos by Olivia Divecchia.

Strong memories and reminiscences today about the tragedy of mortality, including some things I haven't thought about in years. I got into a really contentious conversation with someone about this problem at a party last night. I really enjoyed today -- unseasonably hot and really beautiful. Then, in the evening, I was turning all of that disagreement over in my head again. I remembered an event that I had witnessed that narrowly avoided all kinds of catastrophe and untimely death. And I remembered seeing David Buckel's husband clear melted plastic from a charred vacancy in Prospect Park, and watching him cry, and thinking about him as a member of a community that I really cherish. Other terrible things.

Listening to a few songs by Memories Attack, Heartless Bastards, and Nirvana, and just thinking about this.

I've been having a lot of strange dreams about bureaucrats and nonfiction video recently. Like imagined documentaries and newsreel footage and stuff. They're extremely detailed.

Very productive meeting with Dan.

Lunch with Bob. Afterwards, we saw a nice tree.

Rode my bike to work in the rain. Nice day after this morning. I met a guy in a park; I was having a burrito while he meditated next to me. We talked about finding calm amid everthing, including the shooting, the Lubavitchers parading in RVs with so much noise, construction across the street, a woman yelling at her dog, and a small army of cops harrassing a homeless guy.

It has briefly snowed at least three times in the past couple of days.

Got the wind knocked out of me for the first time since I was seven or eight. Back then it was at Natural Bridge Caverns. Today it was at St. Vitus.

Turns out that what happens is you get bashed really hard in a particular way and your diaphragm becomes momentarily paralyzed. It is an exceptionally creepy sensation.