Avast ye! Here lie me ooooolde thoughts and those of other people. Ye might think of it as... a collective diary or perhaps a treasure chest buried deep in the sands beneath the olde waters of Davy Jones’ Locker. Read at yer own... risk, matey. Judge not the writing below lest you plan on submitting your own fragmant to my email account (which you can find on this website obvi). Argh!
Written by Chris Molnar. December 20, 2020. Well, today happens to be Chris’s birthday. He sent this to me with the description: “prank e-mails i sent to powerhouse's listing for free bubblewrap once to mess with a co-worker!”

#1
hello i have a special interest in
sealed air and your offer is very intriguing.
please tell me the contents of this bag and a good time for to come by
and perhaps feel inside and look at what I can touch
#2
are bubbles big or small I do like
both ways but prefer large this has good feel when I press down
#3
from this picture it does look to
me that there are papers and other items can I leave this with you
maybe I pay you money to do this
perhaps four
#4
yesterday I arrived at your closing
time of 7 and waited for one half an hour but I did not see any worker although
I did see this bag of material and did look at it through glass and these used
bubbles do tempt so
#5
I do not understand why you told
me this bag was already gone it is there.
it is cruel and I will pay you perhaps eight dollars although your list
does say free and I will return. please
tell me bubble wrap books thank you
#6
i did take the train two hours to
the copy center where they do let me buy new wrap it is not so used as yours
too firm to touch and cold factory.
please I do not know why you do not let me take your wrap, I saw it was
gone in the shop, you do not write. it
is soft at my house and I think you could enjoy the good feel but when I come
in they told me I cannot ask for you.
there is a tree with bubble wrap on the top leaves and that is where I
live, please come
Written by Naomi. December 2, 2020. I went to locate a day in my life in my notebooks and found that there was a gap, that between finshing one notebook and receiving another (as a gift for my bday, from Mina in November 2019), that nothing exists to prove that I had something to say about my life at that time. I do remember documenting a particular day when I thought intensely about this one Giacometti sculpture that I liked. Then I had curry (Japanese) later for dinner and had a strong convergence of emotion. Perhaps what I wrote was in my notes (iPhone) or on my laptop (Word Document) or on my iPad (Pages Document), but at this point I don’t think I’ll get to the bottom of it. I keep thinking that the archives of earlier writers, in more analogue times, were more linear and indicative of the “narrative” of an artists life. So when their “papers” were posthumously uncovered, the pieces were more or less arranged to form the story of some decades. Now what do we have? Occasional IG post. Memory of a dream at five in the morning. Dismembered story because none other can now exist.
Written by Jose Carpio (@dr.carpio), published May 26, 2020.
I sat in the stairwell one evening trying to tear my phone in half.
Weighty and compact, its front and back glass panels did not bend. Its rounded metal edges brushed off the force of my twisting wrists, nullifying all my effort.
I continued to twist, wanting to see if I could get to the inside of something (anything), but the outside would not give.
I imagined that the evidence of my force was inside the phone: computer parts mangled by torsion.
Corollary: I imagined my body hitting the water, insides disarrayed, like a dumpling.
My body hitting the water, a distant dream.
By Naomi. March 25, 2020. Today is quiet, and in conversing with myself again I find that hues of maroon have become enriched, lightened around the edges and deepened in the middle. I wonder if those folks will find me at the outgoing tide of the lake, bathed in rubies, and if you—of my imagination, always coming and going—would consider me more me today than yesterday, than last spring, than this past autumn. Some seasons stick around longer than others, and for the most part we dive in and out of loss like visitors to the Earth. You should always express what you believe to be true. Remind me of that tomorrow in the morning in the light. When I woke up this morning, I was dazzled.
