HeyJaredView From the Roof
Live transmissions from the other future: the creative, sensual, chaotic reality of building new worlds.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 11
- Latest publication
- Sep 28, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 5, 2026
Latest issues
Motion and Contentment (opens the original)
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grief (opens the original)
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I spent the day in bed yesterday, oscillating somewhere between suicidal and “almost OK.”My uterus feels like someone has taken a chainsaw to the inside of it, and it is being sliced like a slab of roast beef, pushing gelatinous chunks through the needlepoint of my cervix, overflowing my menstrual cup several times.I’m not period stupid. I don’t “have leaks” of blood- but now, at 41, after decades of never ruining a set of sheets, a pair of pants, or any underwear, suddenly, blood is dripping ev
Time to put down the DSM, Debra. (opens the original)
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This is a fascinating time to be alive. (Warning: if you don’t like dark things, don’t read this, or unsubscribe.)OK, so with that—I wrote a few pieces this week after having writer’s block for basically this entire year. I have been so energetically blocked, and I realized that part of not being able to write has stemmed from the sycophantic rehearsal I’ve had with chatbots. Even though I know that I’m not the greatest and most desirable human in the world, I have consumed so much bland AI writ
My year of judgment (opens the original)
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Humans.Judgment machines.The brain has to judge, for if it didn’t, you’d be dead in a day.“Good and bad.” Judgments.“Right and wrong.” Judgments.When I started walking the path, I realized I had a ton of judgments about just about everything. “This is good. This isn’t. He isn’t. She isn’t.”I initially pretended I let go of those judgments, working hard to let people be as they are and do what they do. I was a “let them” before it was cool, and without any of the royalties. The only thing I
the point of living (opens the original)
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I love sniffing the eye of someone I love in the morning.There’s a deep, human scent in the oily nook, right on their nose underneath the tear duct. The sniffing of their eye— the most beautiful scent that I can imagine. A scent of pheromonic love.I don’t understand life at all.I spend a good chunk of it wanting to be dead, then oscillating out of that, then back into it.I’ve never had ambition; I’m not amused by experiences or travel, and I’ve done my best to document this thoroughly throughout
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