I ask about Keren, drift into the fast foods I have loved since childhood, and stop on a voice or accent that hits me right. It feels like a restless day built out of small preferences and passing fixations.

A military-and-political page about Apache Flares and Trump Praise, written in a charged, combative mood.

The day starts with family hostility, economic despair, and the need to clear December's video backlog, then turns into partner-agreement work, enthusiasm for violent ritualized movie ideas, and long transcript notes about...

The day was a volatile pile of notes about Palestine, Zoroastrian grievance, family money, revenge, coercion, identity hatred, and fantasies of control, which is why it feels less like a diary and more like a raw danger dump.

I spent the day craving cake and better food, doubting Zoom, juggling the Mark Webber meeting, and letting space and comfort fantasies briefly cut through flashbacks and family resentment.