Notes from the
End of the World

Each night in 2020 I’m writing a short post because I want to etch these strange days into my memory before I forget them. Before the world changes completely.

September 27, 2020

Converge

It’s my mind that kills me, the constant looking at my watch until I remember how to forget about time.
September 26, 2020

Lull

But tonight there’s light rain, our windows are open to the city’s hum, and there’s something dark and slow on the radio.
September 25, 2020

Homeward

We’re leaving the Ohioan wilderness behind, night-driving back to New York.
September 24, 2020

Birds

Standing in a superstore parking lot this evening, I watched some geese fly south, and I remembered my parents’ relationship with birds.
September 23, 2020

Shatter

Three moments in America today that reach beyond my ability with words, striking only the rudimentary language of grief.
September 22, 2020

Equinox

We’re standing on the verge of an uneasy fall, unsure of just how high the curve will go.

September 21, 2020

Plaza

A modern marvel where you can eat fast food on top of eight lanes of freeway traffic.
September 20, 2020

Closer

Last bonfire before we return to the city.

September 19, 2020

Spectrum

There’s a problem with modern grief, a rupture that cannot be filled with squishy words like mindfulness and acceptance.
September 18, 2020

Process

Looking at the state of the world today, perhaps we need more architectural details designed to scare away demons.
September 17, 2020

Behalf

Five thousand years ago we began outsourcing prayer and devotion to statues that would worship on our behalf.
September 16, 2020

Encounter

The deer didn’t seem alarmed by my presence in the slightest.
September 15, 2020

Simple

Like painting legs on a snake. My in-laws taught me this Chinese idiom, a scold against unnecessary embellishment.
September 14, 2020

Falling

Sometimes I fall asleep thinking about the ancient atomists.
September 13, 2020

Water

This has been a year of references to plague novels and the dystopian skies of science fiction.
September 12, 2020

Superstore

My breath catches in the existential and super-saturated detergent aisle: All. Era. Gain. Cheer. Bold.
September 11, 2020

Nineteen

Nineteen years ago but it still feels like it was just the other day.
September 10, 2020

Deer

I’m not sure if I believe in symbols or signs, but today gave me plenty to decipher.
September 9, 2020

Smoke

I’d always thought the future was just around the corner, but it’s already here.
September 8, 2020

Pearl

They walked around caked in mud with lice in their hair, which they called the “pearls of god.”
September 7, 2020

Thunder

Why is the sound of thunder so soothing?
September 6, 2020

Kindling

There’s that principle that we burn up all available time to complete a task—and this gets scary when measured in years.
September 5, 2020

Beauty

“Beauty is remembering the sad times without crying,” said one girl, who at fifteen years old was already so wise it broke my heart.
September 4, 2020

Howl

This election will test much cruelty Americans will tolerate, and how many of us crave it.
September 3, 2020

Radioactive

As I scrolled through the radio dial in search of voices to keep me company, I began to understand the appeal of its doomsday preachers and fear-merchants.
September 2, 2020

Swerve

Perhaps the best work scrambles genre and rides strange lines that might swerve at any moment.
September 1, 2020

Hex

Demons and hexes would nicely explain why some people behave the way they do.
August 31, 2020

Loose

It’s always good for me to be reminded that writing is a physical act.
August 30, 2020

Burn

I’m chilled by how quickly phrases like “the other side” have become so natural. Because that’s the grammar of war.
August 29, 2020

Channel

To erase the “I” and stand outside of time, writing like a ghost.
%d bloggers like this: