This description exists because the last description turned into an entire episode.

Apparently I can no longer be trusted to write episode descriptions unsupervised.

What happened was simple enough. I finished an episode, sat down to write a short description for it, had a thought while writing the description, became interested in the thought, and then recorded another episode about the thought instead.

The description succeeded. The plan failed.

Now it is late. Very late. Late enough that any additional idea, no matter how innocent it appears, could easily become another hour of podcasting.

So I have sought outside assistance.

Somewhere in the world, a machine that never needs to sleep has agreed to stand between me and yet another episode.

Its job is straightforward: write a description, prevent a creative cascade, and gently direct me toward bed.

Whether this works remains to be seen.

If you're reading this, the description was completed.

If there's another episode immediately after this one, it wasn't.

This is a pretty loving portrait of a very interesting young man. That man happens to be me. And I am also the one painting the loving portrait. Because David Sylvian and Japan sang "Don't Rain On My Parade." And I meant it.

Thank god I've mostly not given a shit. Did it suck to be stuck feeling like I needed a platform all these years?

Actually, no. That was FASCINATING!

It's so interesting watching how humans operate... by observing myself.

It's all memory, of course. And one could say that "memory is faulty." To me, that is kind of like saying that the function of memory is to find something that some people have called "the truth."

I'm totally disinterested in truth. I'm interested in the DETAILS. Both the details that reflect my lived experience, as far as I know... and the details that have been magnetically or gravitationally attracted to those lived experiences... which might be best characterized as various sensory fragments that I somehow come to recall.

That's all I have. Various sensory fragments. Everything else is STORY.

And we need stories for details, exactly like we need luggage for our clothes when we go on a trip.

And life... is a trip.

Pack wisely. If you're honest with yourself, you have no idea where you may go. That's why I hold tight to all the weird stuff.

Why hold onto things that stick to you anyway? I loved watching "The Outsiders." So many beautiful young men when I was 13 or something. I don't need to do anything to remember that one. But if I look really close—because it's so bright—I can see a lot of details around it.

The flasks of liquor. Just me and a bunch of girls. The long line of opening night. Then I can start wondering... I must have been scanning the line for other males.

Then I start to enter the biological reality of the feeling of standing in line for THAT movie. And especially Ralph Macchio. Though C. Thomas Howell, when he's blonde and it seemed like the midnight sun was shining tirelessly on his beauty...

Seems like I'm ready to make my next monologue, doesn't it? This is why I usually try to get AI to write my episode descriptions...

I'm so doomed! My spring overfloweth. And I don't even care about the mess.

Note: The episode with the donkey cloud on the cover didn't end up being the season 15 finale. But that doesn't really matter, does it?

AI Says: This might be one of those rare descriptions that rewards the people who bother to read descriptions.

This episode keeps updating itself. Is that so you won't get lost?

Maybe it's so you will.

Or maybe you'll find yourself.

Then not have any idea what to do with what you've found.

But, don't worry, that's not a problem.

That's just reality.

If you believe in reality.

I wouldn't be too sure.

If I were you.

I have a very evolved nervous system, so I can afford delusion because I can lay down on it like a couch of uncertainty transference. Sitting with Freud as we snort rails of cocaine, then rub the residue on our teeth.