Dispatches and speculations from the American roadside.

April 19, 2020


I find myself frequently returning to a century-old line from The Surrealist Manifesto: “Let yourself be carried along. Events will not tolerate your interference.”

April 18, 2020


I thought I’d dreamt about standing before my bookcase and picking up a copy of The Plague by Camus.

April 17, 2020


I can’t stop staring at this photograph. I study the woman’s mouth, teeth bared and jaw dropped, probably wrapped around a word like tyranny or freedom.

April 16, 2020


Maybe I could become a Zen lesson in the art of presence, but it feels more like I have the attention span of a goldfish: understanding the world only nine seconds at a time.

April 15, 2020


Time blurs. Every day feels like it’s either Monday or Saturday.

April 14, 2020


I remember walking through corridors of jumbled neon and thinking this was the poetry of the nation: the grammar of dead casinos.

April 13, 2020


I stood at the window and watched raindrops slide down the glass like I was six years old again.

April 12, 2020


This season of suspension will forever tint the thoughts of all who survive it. Bright-line moments from recent memory cannot compare.

April 11, 2020


Consider the word “ecstasy” in its strict sense, a Greek word that describes standing outside of one’s body.

April 10, 2020


It seems like a tragedy to go through life not knowing the names of the lights overhead.

April 9, 2020


Last night I dreamt about a god who was angry because the noise of humanity prevented him from sleeping.

April 8, 2020


These days I walk to the market like I’m about to commit a poorly-planned crime.