We flew over great circles of corn, each the size of the city I was born in.

We ate corn in half a hundred forms for breakfast. It's almost as though America has twin north stars of corn and torture. And who is to say that those get fields aren't themselves torturing the earth and the plants themselves.

I don't even want to begin to put down thoughts about the milk on my cereal, the eggs on my plate, the pork.

We're doing an all day brand strategy session. The hope is to prevent such hideous transgressions within our client. I'm wearing a Slavoj Zizek shirt because I think it's ironic but also a shorthand critique of everything disgusting here, in California, with special attention paid to brand and marketing specifically.

The weather here feels like nothing. Seventy degrees, a bit of a breeze. It feels like a sensory depravation tank. Does this leave more room for the mind and the spirit to soar or is it mostly numbing?

It feels like a dream here.

In all the ways dreams are.

Unreal, light, floating.

Non committal.

Someone today said California is the product of manifest destiny hitting the Pacific ocean the way a wave hits a break. Mostly up, and into itself.

I like the people here.  

I love the beach.

I'm looking forward to being home.

This would be a nice place to be from,

But I'm not.