[…]Alaeddin ate and drank and was cheered and after he had rested and had recovered spirits he cried, "Ah, O my mother, I have a sore grievance against thee for leaving me to that accursed wight who strave to compass my destruction and designed to take my life. Know that I beheld Death with mine own eyes at the hand of this damned wretch, whom thou didst certify to be my uncle;[…]

It seems baffling that despite mounting evidence of [ventilation's] importance, we are stuck practicing hygiene theater—constantly deep cleaning everything—while not noticing the air we breathe.

'You really do look like you're going to cry,' Em replied (with her mouth). 'Are you sure you're all right?' / 'Yes!' I insisted. 'I'm not a complete quakebuttock, you know!' / Yes! (Quakebuttock is a new word I learned weeks ago and have been meaning to slip into conversation ever since.)

JUNE: […] It’s born in you, your identity, I never lost mine. Goori spirituality, it’s always there. I was born with somethin’ […]