“Convulsive beauty will be veiled-erotic, fixed-explosive, magic-circumstantial or not at all.”
Here in Las Vegas, we’re catching the faintest edge of the atmospheric river, a weather event that sounds like something from a fantasy novel.
My map is upside down, inscrutable, and probably for a different planet.
Ohio. Tonight the sun sets at 5:20pm, and I’m still thinking about my soul.
“You can put on a jacket,” she says, “but you can’t take off your skin.”
When I consider the man I want to become, I often picture myself as someone who prays.
The Stand brought me back to teenage nights of staying awake into the small hours with a flashlight, promising myself just one more chapter.
And what is my intuition telling me? My first thought is to turn down the volume on the world so I can hear.
They call it the hour of the wolf, and I think it’s reassuring there’s a name for this time, that others feel it too.
Sometimes my mind lands on a jittery thought: screens have become our reality and the physical world simply exists to serve their needs.
Tonight I came across Tolstoy’s three questions, and they feel especially pressing in these overloaded and disorienting days.
