Journal

Dispatches and speculations from the American roadside.



July 14, 2020

Remembrance

There’s a strange dynamic to this nightly journal, this sensation of writing against time. Or more precisely: writing for myself in the future.

July 13, 2020

Breakup

Nobody died from the pandemic in New York City the other day.

July 12, 2020

Empty

Ten years later, I still remember the sight of a young couple marching along an empty desert road in Nevada.

July 11, 2020

Fiction

Lately I’ve been torn between the possibilities of fiction versus my compulsion to record each day’s events in this nightly journal.

July 10, 2020

Rain

There’s something oddly soothing about the sound of traffic peeling down wet streets on a rainy night.

July 9, 2020

Embers

Maybe it’s an ancestral memory of bearing witness through the night while tending to the flames.

July 8, 2020

Sleepless

You can almost taste it, that bright metallic sensation which floods the brain when it decides there will be no sleep tonight.

July 7, 2020

Nature

We contemplated where waterfalls came from and wondered how saltwater becomes freshwater and vice versa.

July 6, 2020

Vivid

A world without the color green. A man who repainted all the seashells on the beach.

July 5, 2020

Forgetting

It was remarkable, this sudden act of forgetting as if we’d left the past four months behind.

July 4, 2020

Independence

A degraded and muffled Fourth of July. The prospect of celebrating America these days feels like a dark joke.

July 3, 2020

Toll

Sometimes I dream about tollbooth operators, the half-glimpsed faces with cigarettes on their lips, their left hands forever clutching a quarter and a dime in change.