So many of my friends are beautiful (in ways that don’t necessarily show to the eye) that I can only be thankful. They are painters and philosophers, musicians, parents, scientists and actors, directors of film, photographers, doctors – creators of modern faith. Because I can’t sleep, I follow the future, I talk on-line to Israel and Chili, and feel loved and warm, though I am alone in my apartment but for cats asleep in another room and the cold of fall coming in. It is enough, and more than enough. They are my new morning, my complicated comfort.
However, sometimes they send me things. You know the sort, an innocuous looking link tossed over messenger, like, that turns out to be pure, unadulterated evil.