James A. Reeves
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Journal

A house always made of freshly chopped wood.

Maybe one day we’ll reach a point when all possible frequencies have been recorded, every combination of words written.

Interstate Scenes

Hallucinator

Interstate Scene 14: “He thought it was a Civil War ghost,” she said. “But I didn’t start believing in ghosts until a few weeks ago.”

Ohio

August 18, 2022

This morning I fed a robot a few sentences from the novel I’m writing, and it generated some startlingly accurate pictures.

London

A fair chunk of our time was spent pacing and sighing.

We spent a week shivering in a damp atrium with rain dripping down the sides. We called it the Tarkovsky Box.

London

March 5, 2022

The usual clouds, the usual forty-something degrees, and there’s a photograph of my mom on the massive screen behind us.

London

We tuned in to watch a livestream of airplanes struggling to land.

London. Record-breaking wind swept across England yesterday, closing bridges, train lines, and attractions.

Ohio

January 8, 2022

I woke up wondering if I would live my life any differently if I measured my age in days or hours instead of years.

New York City

A perfect crescent dangled over the street.

Sunset: 6:20pm. A first-quarter moon. A high of 72 and another humid night that feels like the wrong season.

Journal

Spirit

In the beginning, God was only “a permanently existing ghost.”

Journal

Deer

I’m not sure if I believe in symbols or signs, but today gave me plenty to decipher.

New York City

August 5, 2020

Lately my dreams have been all garble and grime without symbolism or plot.

Journal

Vivid

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

Journal

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.

New York City

May 21, 2020

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

New York City

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.

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