Journal
Dispatches and speculations from the American roadside.
Wave
The seven o’clock cheers faded long ago.
Feedback
It’s two-thirty in the morning, and a caravan of motorcycles and dune buggies are growling up First Avenue, their engines rattling the windows.
Clay
The Stand brought me back to teenage nights of staying awake into the small hours with a flashlight, promising myself just one more chapter.
Way
It doesn’t matter if the nail is in the exact right place, so long as it’s holding together two pieces of wood.
Downpour
And for a lunatic moment I wonder if it will keep raining until everything is washed clean.
Detach
I remember speeding across a blank Oklahoma plain dotted with pump jacks and cattle pens.
Cover
Finishing a project means closing doors, killing darlings, and foreclosing possibilities.
Echo
Tonight I’m craving the kerchunk of a rewind button and the ritual of scotch-taping the edge of a cassette
Run
They say you never see a cheetah stretch, but maybe I should. My legs always hurt.
Anchors
Rode the subway home in an empty car except for me and an old woman wearing a t-shirt that said, “Love is so gangster.”
Soul
These medieval Catholics were haunted men who desperately wrestled with the question of a soul, not like the playful Greeks who made up the world as they went along.
Spear
And what is my intuition telling me? My first thought is to turn down the volume on the world so I can hear.