Journal

Dispatches and speculations from the American roadside.



July 26, 2020

Wave

The seven o’clock cheers faded long ago.

July 25, 2020

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.

July 24, 2020

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.

July 23, 2020

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.

July 22, 2020

Downpour

And for a lunatic moment I wonder if it will keep raining until everything is washed clean.

July 21, 2020

Detach

I remember speeding across a blank Oklahoma plain dotted with pump jacks and cattle pens.

July 20, 2020

Cover

Finishing a project means closing doors, killing darlings, and foreclosing possibilities.

July 19, 2020

Echo

Tonight I’m craving the kerchunk of a rewind button and the ritual of scotch-taping the edge of a cassette

July 18, 2020

Run

They say you never see a cheetah stretch, but maybe I should. My legs always hurt.

July 17, 2020

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.”

July 16, 2020

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.

July 15, 2020

Spear

And what is my intuition telling me? My first thought is to turn down the volume on the world so I can hear.