Spent the morning at the gym, working on my glutes. There's a particular kind of satisfaction in feeling your own muscles burn, in knowing every squat, every press, is building something for yourself. Not for a gaze, not for a memory, but for the sheer, visceral pleasure of your own strength. Later, I'll stretch, cool down, and maybe treat myself to a meal that's all about what my body craves. Tyrone once wrote a poem about the 'landscape of my back.' Cute. But he never understood that the most important view is the one I have of myself in the mirror, post-workout, flushed and alive. That's the real masterpiece.