You have to stop listening to Kendrick Lamar. It's starting to put holes in your brain. Like a gun, to the head, blasting holes. It's so good, and strong, and tough, and real, and you explained this to him, you "like the texture of his voice, the grittiness, the fact that he can flit from character to character like a chameleon." you "like that he has the normalest black man's face." Nothing special, no diva, just brilliant. Your new favorite words are, lately, in no particular order: strong, tough, and real, simple words that can stand on all fours. You wrote to Patrick, "someday I'm going to write an obnoxious novel with headers." You miss him. He's one of those people you wish would get married already so you can fly the fuck to his wedding and even if he'll be too busy to have coffee with you, that's okay. He's dating a girl name Candace who is also a writer. It's awesome. You wonder why you start to use weddings as an excuse to see your friends.

In fact, you should probably stop listening Kendrick, A$AP, Kanye, Drake, Schoolboy Q, Tyga and all of them for a while, just for a change of mindscape you know. Maybe not so strong and tough and real all the time. Maybe Enya, or Bossa Nova, that Billie Holiday for the sultry summer heat.

Our Nike shoot that we're producing is starting tomorrow. I don't normally write about anything other than emotions in this thing, but since this project will be my life for the next two weeks, I'm going to say: this Nike shoot we're producing is starting tomorrow.

One more thing is, I really like the room I'm living in right now in the Hutong. It's kind of kick ass.