Reading List
The idea of converting my library into pixels on a screen frightens me. Books are meant to be highlighted and dog-eared, their spines cracked and lying facedown on the kitchen table. This how they become part of the scenery and signposts for our memories.
Maps
Ohio. Sunset: 8:35pm. My map is upside down, inscrutable, and probably for a different planet.
Hand of God
Ohio. Sunset: 8:30pm. There’s a waxing crescent moon, and I’m reading about God.
Somnambulist
One of those fine afternoons when you wander into a dusty bookstore in an unfamiliar city.
Gaps and Threads
London. Another day of clouds and drizzle, and somewhere off to the left, I can hear Georges Perec: “Question your teaspoons.”
Midwinter Inventory
Ohio. Blank skies, single-digit temperatures, and the sun goes down at 5:38pm. Here in the Middle West, I’m filling the quiet with books and music, absorbed by text and sound in ways I haven’t felt in years
Broken Scales
Ohio. Sunset: 5:19pm. While I wasn’t paying attention, my life became gamified into metrics and streaks.
Crossroads
Four days left in New York City. Last night I finished Jonathan Franzen’s Crossroads, and even as I turned the final page, I was amazed I was reading it at all.
Burning
Sunset: 4:35pm. Tonight the moon is full. “When you do something, you should burn yourself completely, like a good bonfire, leaving no trace of yourself.”
Crowd
Sunset 4:43pm. Before I left her, she asked, “Have you noticed how much evil fuckery there is in the world lately?”
A Mystic Allure
Sunset: 6:26pm. A waxing crescent moon. The weather is too chipper. I crave gloom, damp leaves on the sidewalk, and a chilly breeze.
Oryx and Crake
I reread Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake, which harmonized with our latest heatwave to an unsettling degree.
Shadowbahn
In Steve Erickson’s Shadowbahn, the Twin Towers reappear in South Dakota, wholly intact and without explanation.