Journal

Dispatches and speculations from the American roadside.



August 14, 2020

Buzz

We’ve entered the last stretch of summer when everything is overripe and so green it feels obscene.

August 13, 2020

Lot

An old man pushes a shopping car filled with metal scrap and hollers about demons.

August 12, 2020

Desk

By now I should know the only way to outrun my bullshit is to keep writing.

August 11, 2020

Puzzle

It’s an exhausting puzzle, trying to figure out which parts of this world to let into your head.

August 10, 2020

Bullet

Three days without television or constant internet access—unless I drive twenty minutes to sit in the parking lot of a Speedway gas station.

August 9, 2020

Logs

The cabin smells like cedar. There is no internet here. No cellphone reception either.

August 8, 2020

Cave

Americans of all kinds gathered together to admire their country’s geological features. All is not lost.

August 7, 2020

Road

I still remember the frantic voice of a late-night caller who said, “We can’t get the blood out of our eyes fast enough to see what’s coming next.”

August 6, 2020

Pack

We’re packing for a trip of indeterminate length.

August 5, 2020

Decay

Lately my dreams have been all garble and grime without symbolism or plot.

August 4, 2020

Debris

Maybe human brains aren’t equipped for this, absorbing painful images from everywhere at once without the ability to be present and act.

August 3, 2020

Moon

I should understand the rhythm of the moon by now.