the dog was barking so i took her out, and a neighbor’s cat was on the lawn, and the dog pulled me toward the cat and i saw the mouse. the mouse was a comma: bent over itself picking at whatever took over the lawn—some weed that looks like grass, but more invasive—and the side of its head was dark and slick, an ear gone, and what got me was how the mouse kept eating. the cat crouched to strike again, and the mangled mouse turned away and dug in the dirt with its paws. there’s no heartbreak like going through the motions. three feet away, its tail curled in the driveway.

it was fires, then floods, and now locusts, kind of—grasshoppers have swarmed the neighborhood, awakened by the warmest winter on record, again. the dog snaps at them as they blitz your ankles, but you still have to walk the dog.

i brought the dog back inside (poor dog) and enlisted a neighbor to carry the cat down the block, and found a pair of work gloves. i moved the mouse to a patch of ivy by the chain link fence. of course the mouse was afraid of me. the clumsy gloves dulled my grip, i couldn’t be sure i wasn’t crushing its paws. i wasn’t sure the cat hadn’t gotten its underside. what does it mean to do the right thing for something against its will? it’s a pervasive fear: that we hurt things more by handling them. our interference has caused enough trouble already.

in the ivy the mouse was very still. i brought it sunflower seeds and then walked the dog, and when i came back the mouse had crawled onto the lawn again, in the open, like nothing had happened. the mouse was stupid, or had maybe ingested rat poison and was going loopy before it died, which i’ve heard can happen, or maybe it was trying to go home, or it just really wanted to be on the lawn. of course the cat came back. i put the dog away again and pulled on the gloves, trying not to touch the palms with my bare hands, and the mouse squirmed away as i tried to pick it up and i wasn’t sure i had the conviction to force it but then matthias pulled up and i made him put on my too-small gloves and gather the mouse—he’s good at things like that—and we moved it to the blackberry brambles behind the garage, where there is plant cover but also grass (or a weed that mimics grass), and matthias lay a sheet of plywood over the entrance to the brambles so the mouse could get out but the cat couldn’t get in, even if the cat got into the back yard, and we threw away the gloves. he was moving around, i said to matthias, and he said, a head wound is a big deal to a wild animal. and i want to believe it lived, but also, it couldn’t be helped if it died. i just thought it deserved to die privately, instead of slow death by cat. i guess that’s the point—to preserve dignity. when i looked the next morning, it was gone.

last week i dreamed i had a general meeting about adapting the book and the development executive asked if i believed in god. (this is not a normal question for a general meeting.)

and i said, “you know when you’re hiking and you see a bison in the clearing—and it’s so real, it’s not only real but it’s natural, it’s part of the world. you are in the world together—but you can’t touch it. you’re not it’s favorite, you’re not the one who will tame it. that’s god.”

regarding writing, or the function of morality in writing, i’ve been thinking recently that even if you don’t know the shape of your god you still have to follow it into the woods. this feels important in the same way.

*

the hallmark of AI in visual art is imperfection—weird fingers, phantom limbs, patterns that come undone—but the hallmark of AI in writing is perfection. there are distinct phrases and patterns, for sure, but one major tell is that AI writing follows all the rules; no human writes with 100% correct grammar. i just love that, because no matter how representational AI gets, it’ll never have style. that’s what style is—how you break the rules.

*

i love valentine’s day. it’s quaint that we ever accused it of being a corporate holiday. what isn’t corporate? at least it’s a holiday. i can’t wait to have a kid so we can make doily hearts together. (picturing this in my mind, i can smell the purple glue stick.)

*

walking the dog today, i saw what looked from across the street like a child-sized wind chime. not for children, but the size of a child. it was suspended from a cedar tree in front of a neighbor’s house. i couldn’t get a better look because there was a dog in the yard barking at my dog—two frothing dogs on either side of a fence, that’s us on either side of this screen—but i swear the chimes were 4 feet long. how do you even get that into a tree? and what kind of sound does it make? you could stand under it on a windy day and have a personal sound bath, i bet your whole body vibrates. how exciting, in a world of haunting ambiguity, to experience a contained mystery.

I love festive consumption. Gift guides are arguably a relic of the golden days of the listicle, and they awaken within me the same thrill of knowing oneself: here is the arrangement of objects with which I shape my world! Here is enrichment for the enclosure! Under the guise of “shopping for others,” products bask in the golden light of altruism. Being an excellent gifter feels similar to the smug high of being a gym rat or nonsmoker, except you also get to smoke.

In celebration of Saturnalia/Yule/whatever, here’s a roundup of things that I cannot or should not buy for myself, but that I think someone would really love. If you do end up getting anything—for yourself or others—let me know! Allow me the gift of compursion. Happy holidays xo

I will never financially recover from this

Fancy gifts.

Lennox cream and sugar set

The Lennox spice village’s moment seems to have lasted years, but I think they’re the definition of timeless. This cream and sugar set is classy without committing to an entire metropolis. Consider also the matching coffee canister, or a whimsical carousel-themed set.

Wedgewood lighter & ashtray set

Soooo classy and under $20??

Hermes cirque scarf

I inherited a few silk scarves from my grandma, and have only worn them as slutty tube tops. But there’s time to change! I would let this one kill me Isadora Duncan-style. I think it would be cute paired with this 1980s guide on how to style one's Hermes scarf—though you could pair the guide with any vintage silk scarf or handkerchief.

French perfume that smells like morning dew

I recently ordered a bunch of samples from this parfumerie because I wanted to try the one that smells like a monastery, but this grassy scent was a sleeper hit. Arguably a homeopathic cure for seasonal depression, it smells like rolling around sun-baked grass—and, because it’s French, also maybe just a tiny bit like cigarettes.

Session with a psychic

I think this is such a fun gift because it falls under the category of “things people enjoy but find hard to justify buying themselves.” It’s also a pretty flexible gift idea in terms of budget and vibe—you could go for tarot reading, astrology, human design, energy work, etc. One of my chicest friends gifts her loved ones pet psychic sessions. If you don’t know where to start, I highly recommend my dear friend Chrissy Tolley, a Tucson-based medium who is both celestially blessed and an earth-plane delight.

A hamburger press

For some reason, this is also something I want but won’t buy for myself. I don’t know why—inexpensive and useful for grilled cheese, diner toast, and evenly seared meat, it’s anything but frivolous. Could be a cute stocking stuffer, or pair with a Kiss the Chef apron.

A trompe l’oeil soup tureen

Imagine putting your soup in this! I die! There’s a variety of veggie shapes on eBay, making this an easy gift to tailor to someone’s personality. I also like this psychedelic one that’s shaped like vegetables shaped like a pig.

A rotund puppy trinket dish

He sparks so much joy 😭😭😭

A butter dish

Who doesn’t like soft butter? This one is cute, or you can hunt around and find one that depicts dogs or bowling or whatever your giftee is into.

A Heath ceramic mug

Being in your thirties is funny because one night you’re sprinting to the uber with your shoes in your hands, and the next morning you’re extremely specific about mugs. This one is the perfect size, shape, and weight.

storms in LA are extra biblical. it only rained for twelve hours, but the sidewalk is riddled with palm fronds and bloated worms; it’ll take twice as long to drive anywhere all day because the city isn’t built for rain and neither are its drivers. petrichor, fecund and sensual, is the smell of mother earth in heat. i’m writing from altadena, under evacuation warning again—at risk of mudslides from the burn zone. we live just south of the danger area and are fine, but it’s hard not to feel like, fuck, it was fire and now it’s floods? what next, locusts?

i’m four episodes into Love is Blind: Denver, and oh my god. it might as well be Love is Blind: People Who Insist on Calling It X Instead of Twitter. everyone is into hustling and bio-hacking and the girlboss-to-tradwife pipeline. i thought denver was, like, backpackers and white dreadlocks culture, but maybe this is white dreadlocks culture now. maybe this season spawned from the mud at a burning man orgy, a plague unto itself. in reducing my screen time, i’ve really penned myself into one little cul-de-sac of the internet; i hear the distant sirens of mormon maha culture, but they rarely turn onto my street. sometimes the narrowing of my field of vision makes me feel old and boring. other times, as when i watch Love is Blind: Denver, i feel the shadow of pestilence has passed over my house. you either age into obscurity or die insufferable, i guess. i will absolutely finish the season.

i finished Love Island Games last week and all i have to say is that of the finale four, i think it’s fucking hilarious that the couple that won pulled it off. (i hated them the least, which is basically the same as rooting for them.) game-based reality shows don’t usually do it for me—aside from the occasional figure skating or dressage clip, i don’t watch the olympics—but i love watching stupid people strategize ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

i’m like 1/3 into Chris Kraus’ new book, The Four Spent the Day Together, and very into it so far. like so many women, I Love Dick was the most identity-defining read of my early 20s, and while this book is obviously different, Kraus writes like a streetcar: it’s all linear efficiency on one level, but just underground the whole thing is pulled along by live wires and searing electricity. i feel like she and i are having two conversations at once when i read her work. honestly, i’m in a little bit of a crisis because i used to read all the time and now i just scroll dog advice reddit, reading my dog’s shit like tea leaves to divine potential food intolerances. i’m also writing a novel.

things i have cooked recently: spaghetti al limon, various attempts at grain bowls, air-fried salmon, an entire duck (again, i am writing a novel—i will do anythingggg not to do the thing i want to do most in this world), annie’s stovetop mac with frozen peas and cut-up turkey dogs. next is chicken soup with broth from the duck bones. the best carb in chicken soup, imo, is egg noodle. rice is a close second. spaghetti is upsetting.

happy fall x

aiden

okay so last month i released a book—my book, the book—and the book’s existence is in large part because of this newsletter, and i love the book and i love my readers and i think you would love each other…but i didn’t send anything out about the release until now?

i had this whole ambitious rollout plan—a deep-dive into the cover art, a tie-in video for each essay, an eternal ouroboros of content that creates as it consumes, etc—and then life happened or kept happening, and it all started to feel very overwhelming and a little gauche, and the only thing worse than selling yourself is selling yourself behind schedule, and then… it’s almost september. acorns have started to drop on the sidewalk, even though it’s 90 degrees. this morning i saw a squirrel with a perfect pointy acorn in its mouth like i was in woodland creature central casting. i’m sorry i didn’t write sooner.

in exchange, though, here is something secret, something i have not put anywhere else on the internet. i got a puppy.

it brings me great joy to introduce you and only you to (shrimp) scampi <3

scampina bambina, hyena, appropriately afraid of the cats, perfection.

i’ve been sending matthias lightly traumatic animal rescue instagram posts for years; we take turns being the voice of reason in our relationship, but he’s really held things down in pet corner. and then the other night some friends and i saw freakier friday,* and before that we went to the americana-at-brand cheesecake factory, and outside the cheesecake factory some teenagers were selling doodle puppies out of a wagon. one cheesecake factory martini deep, i sent matthias some very desperate videos. later that night he affirmed that buying a puppy from a wagon outside the cheesecake factory is “sus” and “unethical” (🙄) but he called my bluff, finally, and the next day we went to the humane society. that’s the art of negotiation, baby!

scampi is about two years old, a stray with a mysterious past and an equally mysterious amount of energy for an “adult” dog. we took her home on a foster-to-adopt basis in case she tried to kill the cats; luckily so far it seems like she wants to play with them, but respects their boundaries. (mush impresses me every day with his insistence on jumping over the baby gates to hiss at scampi and assert dominance; puff, like an agèd diva, has taken to the bedroom. also he attacked me in my eyes while i was sleeping the other night, and shit on my little bedside rug. but i believe in growth!)

it’s hard to show in pictures that scampi is kind of tiny; she’s 34 pounds, like a chihuahua-shepherd mix? a miniature horse-pug? more pics:

you’re the first to know: that’s my dog! welcome, shrimp scampi! :,)

oh and book stuff: i’m really, really happy. it’s a USA today bestseller?? what the fuck how 😭 i feel really, really grateful and a little bewildered, and also a little relieved to have release month over because i have a complicated relationship with attention—like i crave it, but sometimes also feel like i’m being hunted. here are some of my fav articles/interviews:

• the washintgon post

• the new york times

• interview mag

• the creative independent

• lullaby machine

you have a new memory literally wouldn’t exist without you. books are different from other media because they require so much imaginative lift from the reader; rather than a passive creative-consumer relationship, it’s like entering a spell, or a collaboration, together. thank you for showing up. if you’ve read the book or plan to read it, i truly hope you love it.

x aiden

*which was exactly what it needed to be, and a delight tbh?? i laughed and i absolutely cried