The end of the year leaves me feeling as if I’m supposed to be reflective; I find myself hunting for revelations that never arrive.
It’s almost like a new form of weather, this atmosphere of everyone waiting for this wretched year to end.
I try to imagine my reaction if someone showed me some scenes from the year to come.
There will be no flash of light or burning bush.
But for three or four minutes, something otherworldly seemed possible.
Music felt more necessary than ever this year.
A pair of ears clutches a knife. A pig dressed as a nun encourages a man to sign a legal document. And so on.
Remember this, I thought, because it won’t always be this way.
My first concept of god came from It’s a Wonderful Life.
My memories tend to pile up around the holidays, fogging my thoughts with the textures of Christmas seasons from the past.
A billionaire was on television this morning, and he’s worried about our social fabric.
Heavy rain beats against the windows and it’s the longest night of the year, one of my favorite moments.
How would knowing that consciousness lingers while the body goes cold change the way we reckon with death—or bear witness?
I absorbed so many forms of 1980s sitcom trauma.
“But I’m working on a special microchip that will block the signals of all demons and devils,” he said.
An elderly man collapsed against the base of a Bernini.
There’s this old couple that gets around. Maybe you’ve seen them.
Maybe it has to do with the silence it brings, how it tranquilizes the world for a while.
There were days when our images were honored, even feared.
I’m reappreciating the joy of mundane events this year, the delight in everything happening as expected.
