March 1st: caught between winter and spring. Sunny, cloudy, windy, rainy, all at once. The day I expected my daffodils to bloom, my chocolate cake to be served, my new toys to be unwrapped. March 1st: my birthday.

Many years ago, on Valentine’s Day, I discovered that some of the strange glances men directed my way weren't meant to mock, but to show unfiltered interest.

One of the best purchases I made in my youth was a tiny family crypt in Cedar Hill Cemetery. In time, it will become the place where I will face east forever, lovingly cradled by oaks and cedars and pines and the presence of my dear brother resting right beside me.

He has a new client here, I’ve been told. That would explain the voices I heard yesterday morning, when all I could do was bask in the fantasy of him. One would expect to be notified of such a thing: I could’ve shifted closer, listened more carefully, loved a little less madly.

Sometimes my dreams take the shape of my secretaries’ slender calves, mirages of whiteness twisting under the blue skirts I used to dress them in. Not my favorite dolls, but the ones I found easiest to play with.

Beneath all that plastic leather, silver jewelry and costume gemstones, runny kajal and a loyal cirrus of hairspray and cologne, my brother’s beauty lies untouched, as I remember it, as it was before he ruined it, perhaps to hurt me, perhaps to hurt himself.

The community of readers here is quite small. When assistance is needed at the return desk, it is usually my own returns I handle. I process them myself, print and file the new requests and approve them as needed. (You can see one of my recent favorite books on top of the pile.)

Once again, the child on the Naughty List (for life, beyond appeal) gets candies for Christmas: not what he asked for, though evidently his conduct has not yet justified coal.

"Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him." Reading new-old books under a sun that fails to heal the strange flu that has soaked into my bones.

"We did! Your father proposed to me the other day."

I‘m getting married!! 💕💘💝💗💖

No Vongole dear, pillows aren’t dinner

Hold your loved ones close. You never know when it might be the last time.

The trees I taught him, the places I showed him, the smallest cubes of apple I fed him one by one, the figurines I pulled out of his mouth, the hand I held at the church, at the park, at the grocery store, all make me wonder: how did I do without a big brother?

Not yet forty, I’ve already read more books than most free men manage in a lifetime. The prospect of reading more and more as the years go by doesn't feel as thrilling as it sounds; that’s why my summer is usually dedicated to well-loved books that have met me each time as a different man.

My poor brother reports to this man every workday.

@acedefense.bsky.social [The sun stretches its wiry fingers through the trees and the glass windows of an airy living room: wood, marble, and books now adorned with prismatic shadows. Kristoph rises from the pile of papers and folders crowding the head of his oak dining table. +

Update on my Little Bird: - It has grown noticeably, though it remains small enough to fit in my hand. - It shows no desire for freedom still, making training unneeded. - I’ve named it after one of the last Little Birds I've cared for. Sadly, it does NOT seem to recognize the name as its own yet.

This day also marks the anniversary of the legal execution of the deed to my first law office. It was a modest space, designed for one. I gave one of my brother’s friends a meaning by hiring him to handle the painting and help with moving the boxes. Shortly after, he became my first client.

I had a summer haircut in the morning and gave myself a manicure in the afternoon. Even in this lethargic imprisonment, I cannot neglect the small tasks that bring me peace. I wonder what it must feel like to realize that the man you believed to have shattered is, in fact, quite hard to chip.

Treating myself to a special meal today. While bread and butter are on my plate every day, jam is a rarity of sorts.

Long nails are for clean men whose lives demand minimal physical effort. Few things are more repulsing than those half-moons turned ashy. Please cut your nails!

The difference between loving a female and a male he did not know, but all he needed was a little push in the right direction, a kiss on the right spot, a bite where it hurt the most: suddenly, he knew. When he touches you, it's me touching him - touching you.

My brother was very young when he first attempted to cover a rock song with his friends, performing it for me and a small group of guests. The performance was outrageous, but I must admit: was ambitious, charming, self-satisfied. No one was shining like he was on that school stage. +

This white little thing is my new pet companion. It shows no inclination to fly away and I show no inclination to let it go.

Two uncatalogued books from the new donation parcel will keep me engaged all evening. The content is pleasant enough; the distracting moldy whiffs, not so much.

Writing to a prisoner is easy as long as you know how to do it. The front left corner of the envelope must have a valid return address. The prisoner's address must be placed in the center of the envelope. <<READ MORE>>