I fell asleep with the breeze and awoke with the wind. The wind was strong enough that it was carrying the stars away, one by one. My little pellets of night light were being taken away. Far away. I knew immediately that this was tragic and I'd miss them deeply. But they were happier there, together with the wind, far away. I got up and closed the balcony door. I fell back asleep with stillness and stumbled into a monsters' wedding where I was laughed at and poked in the ribs and made to stand on a table alone. The bride and the groom stood in front of me with stones in their gnarly hands. Their noses were huge and bulbous and flopping down in front of their jagged, crooked mouths so that none of their words made any sense. Eventually, sunlight dissipated the wedding party and dissolved the stones and brought me back to life. I don't dream often anymore, but when I do it's terrifying.        

To be liked.

My favorite pictures are often the ones that few people like. Weird lighting, my feet in a place or on a day that means something to me, something old, something surprising. I like those pictures. I do. But they're not the popular ones. Expansive landscapes, flowers, sunsets, cute animals. I'll take more and more pictures of them because that's what is liked. Not the meaningful ones. If I could take away one invention of my lifetime, it'd be the like button. In all of its forms. Because who doesn't want to be liked. And who doesn't shape themselves and what they do and what they say and what they show in order to be as liked as possible by the people in their lives. Instead of being the being that they are or the being that they want to be, they think about the being that is liked. Who is that being? Made up of stupid little clicks that somehow take on meaning, and yet are typically given without a thought. Generating confidence in their presence, and casting doubt in their absence. I'm glad you have no way to like this blog. Otherwise it'd probably be a very different blog. Full of daisies and selfies and words that mean nothing to me.            

But I'm glad that you're here.