Damien 🦇

Congratulations on your goddamn cherries.

I was going to eulogize my stepfather—but he was complicit. Still, it’s been 20 years since I’ve written a eulogy, and I’m amused by the idea. Maybe tomorrow, after I’ve sat with this for a while.

As of this writing, Elvis Presley remains dead.

They’re all witches.

Easy to love, hard to forget, lots of donuts.

Sleep sweetly suckers.

I’ve never seen a bunch of Christians work so hard to take food away from people.

Sometimes the simplest message is the most effective.

Cancel Paramount+ boycott CBS.

Some doors close slower than others.

To fight the entity, you need a couple of virgins and a bag of marshmallows.

People who say they’ve changed, haven’t, they’ve stopped pretending.

My toxic trait is thinking I’d thrive in 1970s Hollywood.

I like my compliments with plausible deniability.

Every secret hums.

Somewhere, someone says forever like it’s a password.

I’m supposed to talk to someone from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, but I’m sending an intern to do it, because I’m lazy and I don’t care.

Elevator conversation.

Me: Do you find that success hums at the same pitch as exhaustion?

Her: ?!?

Goodbyes look the same as reunions if you blur your eyes a little.

When someone dies, the rest of the world keeps moving, and you’re suspended in time, frozen in your grief, and in a way, you never catch up again.

Opium is the perfume of forgetting.

I’m writing a three-act off-Broadway musical about Michael Rockefeller, the Rockefeller heir who was famously eaten by cannibals.

Every time I fix one part of my life, another part starts blinking red.

Nothing collapses faster than the fantasy someone built for you.

Sometimes the difference between morality and appetite is costume design.

I grew up around an abandoned coal shaft. The locals say if you fall in, and the fall doesn’t kill you, you’ll splashdown in a pool of blind fish.

They shut down the Jaws ride years ago to make room for Harry Potter—sigh—but little me was there, in the tram, pounding my fist against the fiberglass shark, telling my father this one wasn’t scary at all.

Me, a 3-D printer, and six hours of wondering what “progress” actually means.

I just called my cat sugarplum.

Here’s a memory, one time I was talking to the girl that was on the TV series, millennium, I forget her name. Anyway, we’re talking, and I asked her a question about the Lucy Butler character, and she got really nasty about it. Good times.