Journal
Dispatches and speculations from the American roadside.
Cusp of Things
Ohio. A grey Sunday with the possibility of snow. They’re calling it a “Saskatchewan screamer,” this weather system moving across the Tennessee Valley.
Tomorrow’s Gods
Ohio. Cloudy skies, no snow, and a high of 43 degrees. There’s an old Roman maxim that fear gave birth to the gods.
A Low Rumble
Ohio. There’s a waxing gibbous moon and omicron everywhere. Ronnie Spector died today.
Rewind
Ohio. Another frigid and atmospherically pointless day without any snow. My brand new cassette tape arrived.
Word Count
Ohio. Wind chills in the single digits and still no snow. If I’m not paying attention, I can push commas around for hours.
17 Minutes Remaining
Ohio. The grey skies of January continue, the moon is in its first quarter, and I bought a tiny telephone.
Dream Language
Ohio. Temperatures in the thirties and everything is coated grey. I woke up wondering if I would live my life any differently if I measured my age in days or hours instead of years.
Collision
Ohio. Sunset at 5:23pm with temperatures deep below freezing. At a meeting in a church basement, I encountered a fine collision of the sacred and profane.
Timelines
Ohio. Temps in the teens and a light coating of snow. Time gets funny when you start losing people.
Ship
Ohio. Forty degrees with gusty winds. The sun goes down at 5:21pm tonight. In the far corner of the library, an elderly man sighs over a big dusty book of trees.
Goodness
Ohio. Tonight the sun sets at 5:20pm, and I’m still thinking about my soul.
Post-Internet
Writing about online living feels tacky for some reason, even though it might be the only thing we have left in common.