I wrote a sonnet about BETH.

This is the purest form of true Pittsburgh architecture and home design. Don't ask me to explain. If you know, you know.

I wrote a sonnet about Telemachus racing Spider-Man.

What...can this mean?

I wrote a sonnet about taking this longevity thing too far.

I wrote a sonnet about the most progressive parents in American giving theirchildren the most traditional names.

Accidental Magritte

They're calling it "a hard summer rain in rural Carolina."

I wrote a sonnet about whether the average person should be more afraid of the American rich, or Maoism.

Gently, but firmly, instructing my design-build firm to make my new home approximately 95% more ominous.

Interior design is my passion.

Obsessed with everything that's going on here.

Cat. Carolina. Summer.

The world may be complicated and unpredictable, but I take comfort in the solid, immovable certainty that there will always exist, in the Pittsburgh suburbs, a kind of house whose bland suburban exterior conceals an interior design deeply and firmly rooted in the unimaginable power of COCAINE.

I wrote a sonnet about being called an idiot for directly sending Elon Musk $25.

All downhill since Margaret.

Folks

I wrote a sonnet about our very large pool.

They're calling it North Carolina

I wrote a sonnet about whether Achilles was bi.

I wrote a sonnet about expressing your ideas in the language of mathematics or code.

I wrote a sonnet about being likely to say more about the Middle Easter after the midterm elections.

I wrote a sonnet about mom's AI boyfriend.

Hey

I wrote a sonnet about Sam Altman undergoing voluntary euthenasia in order to upload his brain.

I wrote a sonnet about being, and always having been, a fan of France.

Le petit alpiniste

I say this completely without irony, but there is something I genuinely love about this absolute committment to a kind of maximalist faux Tudor modernism with a sick-ass 1980s basement rec room retrofit.