James A. Reeves
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Korpo

Solitude

It seems perverse that a deeper sense of community would come from living someplace remote rather than among the crowds of the city.

Korpo

Retreat

This season is defined by muted Bergman films projected on the wall in the hour of the wolf.

Korpo

Scale

I came across moments in the forest that felt ceremonial, the ancient rites of geology operating at scales beyond my comprehension.

Korpo

Crying

The tears of things. If I squint at this phrase a certain way, I catch a glimpse of how I might better relate to grief.

Korpo

Screens

I want to commune with nature but I do not know how. Some lizard-brained part of me wants to pull out my telephone and look for new headlines, new information.

Korpo

Intoxicated

For years I’ve nursed elaborate fantasies of living in a remote cabin or better yet a double-wide in the Mojave desert. But would isolation make me more sensible?

Korpo

Nostalgia

Korpo, Finland. I remember believing the world would make sense when I grew older. But it never did, and it probably won’t.

Korpo

Consolation

I wonder what the effect will be in the long run, bearing witness to so much handwritten pain. “First let this be consolation,” she says. “Then let it be courage.”

Korpo

Information

I try to see the world through my father’s eyes, his sense that everything looked like science fiction.

Korpo

Silence

Today I came across the phrase “algo-seance scene” and realized I’m losing track of not only the future but the present.

Korpo

Ash

“The bottom line is we’re all prisoners of the universe.” This becomes the coda for Jia Zhangke’s Ash is Purest White, where a dangerous romance downshifts into existential longing.

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