Thought Catalog

Blake Butler

Blake is the author of several books of fiction and nonfiction. He edits HTMLGIANT and reports on books for Vice.

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For all the times I did this I only bought one of the calendars once. I was shaking so hard. I thought the salesperson was going to eat me. I locked the calendar in a metal box and hid it in my closet with all the other precious secret crap. In the night I’d bring it out and stare and see it.

I work out almost every day at a small gym shared by homeowners at a loft complex where I live in downtown Atlanta. At any given time there are anywhere between zero and seven people in there using the free weights or the cardio equipment.

Where I saved last night I find myself standing on a platform and the wind is blowing all muffled sometimes as if onto a microphone and there is music like you are about to go on a horse ride to somewhere you’ve never been with someone you sort of like.

Is the high-pitched head-voice the only voice Thom Yorke remembers how to use ever now when saying actual words besides the ooh-ooh? I feel like if this song were written in the 1400s they would have strung the dude on the rack to see if he sounded like that then, too.

This position of this guy’s hips is definitely art. I don’t know which Macy’s he got that belt from but I love the way the light coming off it matches the color of the rain that’s coming down on the flower field while he pretends to play the violin.

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