Journal
Dispatches and speculations from the American roadside.
Maps
Ohio. Sunset: 8:35pm. My map is upside down, inscrutable, and probably for a different planet.
Not That You Mind the Killing
The Night of the Hunter opens with the disembodied heads of five children floating in the cosmos and gets weirder from there.
Hand of God
Ohio. Sunset: 8:30pm. There’s a waxing crescent moon, and I’m reading about God.
Rot
I think I’ve managed to switch on the comments in case anyone wants to say hello or recommend a movie or a song.
Greenland
I’m somewhere over Greenland, and the sun will never go down because we’re flying west.
London
Mostly cloudy skies with a high near seventy degrees while C. and I sat in the National Gallery, awaiting the results of our mandatory Covid tests so we could fly home.
Brighton
Why is elegant decay more appealing than the gleaming new thing? Perhaps because it inspires sympathy, even a sense of recognition.
York
The British definition of “pudding” is broad and roomy, accommodating all kinds of beliefs.
Bath
As we pulled out of Paddington Station, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the announcements on the Great Western Railway.
Somnambulist
One of those fine afternoons when you wander into a dusty bookstore in an unfamiliar city.
Violent Light
London. After six weeks here, I still find myself stopping in the street, stunned by how low the clouds hang on this island.
Black Walls
We spent a week shivering in a damp atrium with rain dripping down the sides. We called it the Tarkovsky Box.