Journal

Dispatches and speculations from the American roadside.



October 4, 2020

Extreme

This year has made conspiracy theorists of so many of us to some degree.

October 3, 2020

Oldies

I find myself craving the days when a 303 sounded like it contained all the mysteries and possibilities of the world.

October 2, 2020

Positive

Today the president went to the hospital after testing positive for the coronavirus.

October 1, 2020

Ritual

A mixture of marble and steel that looks like a collision of the past and future.

September 30, 2020

Training

“You’ll be working at least seventeen hours on Election Day,” he said. “So bring a sandwich.”

September 29, 2020

Shame

Tonight’s first presidential debate was a fitting spectacle for a degraded nation.

September 28, 2020

Dots

If I’ve gleaned anything from keeping this glum journal throughout this year, it’s that I keep returning to the language of grief.

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.