Journal

Dispatches and speculations from the American roadside.



May 25, 2020

Memorial

After sixteen hours of talk radio, interstate winds, and screaming into metal boxes for food, my grip on the world grew slippery.

May 24, 2020

Bell

Riffling through my small box of family memories, I came across a note written in an unfamiliar hand.

May 23, 2020

Recursion

Thinking about the blurry line between media consumption and my soul.

May 22, 2020

Time

Time is a concept. Time is a flat circle. Clocks only measure other clocks.

May 21, 2020

Babble

Each morning I wake to the imaginary babble of fully-formed news reports and television clips while skating across sleep.

May 20, 2020

Cracks

I write and work. I step outside and look at the sky. Sometimes I go for an ugly run. I make phone calls. I tend this journal. Repeat.

May 19, 2020

Dark

I remember watching the darkness in my bedroom when I was small, hypnotized by grey-pink flecks while I waited for sleep.

May 18, 2020

Weird

Maybe we’ll have a vaccine soon. Maybe the president will poison himself. Things can go either way these days.

May 17, 2020

Genre

The Chinese takeout spots along First Avenue have pulled up their metal shutters. The florist is open.

May 16, 2020

Symbols

We might remember crouching on the sidewalk, frantically trying to gather the teeth falling from our mouths—not the circumstances that led us there.

May 15, 2020

Grass

We spent a few hours in the park because it’s almost possible to forget this pandemic while hiding in the grass beneath a tree.

May 14, 2020

Mono

An otherworldly landscape of alkaline and soda towers surrounded flat waters without a single ripple.