Levels

A recurring theme so far in this notebook has been my troubled relationship with projects in my early twenties – synthesizers, cocktails, ascots – but in the back half of my twenties I got a different bug in my brain: I want a conversation pit. I don’t know where it would go (I live in a fairly narrow railroad-style apartment) and I don’t know what I would do with it (I almost never have guests over) but I still, somehow, believe that a conversation pit is right for me.

I’m not exactly sure how I got fixated on this, but if any of my other projects are any indication, its about aspirational identity. And although I could give all sorts of reasoning for how this connotes a lovable oddball with regular social gatherings, there’s no getting around the obvious: this is sex furniture.