I went up to PS1 MoMA a few days ago because a friend had recommended the Niki de Saint Phalle exhibition and another friend I haven’t seen in ages lives sort of close to it. I had gone to 3 other museums the same week, the Whitney, the Met, and the Brooklyn Museum, and the Saint Phalle show was the first thing that felt happy. not all happy, but delirious and joyful in many moments.

it sometimes feels petty to want to just dwell in playful spaces. everything is complicated and bad and getting worse! we should talk about it! but sometimes I don’t want to talk about it! there’s nothing naive or blinkered about Saint Phalle’s Nanas and playgrounds, but they made me laugh and want to touch them and be inside them.

I am thinking about that as I look back over my writing. how do I make it something that I want to be inside of?

the time I have this weekend, all I want to do is pick apart what I have and make it brighter and more delirious.