My appliances don’t understand me. Random shuffle fails to keep measure with my tics. Unfriending strangers no longer fills me with a frisson of spite. I have been sleeping too much, and in my dreams, great rolls of fencing escape from captivity and flatten trees and houses. I go for long walks with my eyes shut because some days it’s too much work to focus. The slower I go the more I stumble, like a bench grinder with a decaying belt. I’ve been too happy. As my friend the skull likes to point out, it takes no muscles at all to smile. Glowering is a lost art.

Posted in ,

Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave’s writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the “share alike” provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).


  1. Haha! Love it. Particularly the line: “Unfriending strangers no longer fills me with a frisson of spite,” which fills me with a frisson of mischievous delight.


    1. Ditto! and the glowering.


    1. Tragic, isn’t it? (That was true about the fencing, though — I really did dream that.)


  2. FOR three years, out of key with his time,
    He strove to resuscitate the dead art
    Of glowering…


Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.