The artist’s obsession becomes the listener’s obsession.
There’s this old couple that gets around. Maybe you’ve seen them.
She had been a diver and, for a time, the most famous woman in town. Especially once she began killing people.
Notes from an accidental visit to a temple in West Virginia.
A photo-essay from Greece. Our most sacred institutions have become obscene while profane cries of resistance sound absolutely spiritual.
Grief can arrive on a gust of wind, a glimpse at a calendar, or a half-heard snippet of conversation on the street.
Each time I pick up a pen these days, I am reminded of Ingmar Bergman’s admonition that “the only worthwhile subject is man’s relationship with god.”
After receiving a lung and transforming himself into a grand old man, my father slipped suddenly from this world.
I’d like to be a little beacon of joy for my father, chipper and zen and awake at six in the morning eating a piece of fruit. Instead, I stay up late reading Schopenhauer.
When the body rebels, the mind realizes it’s been preoccupied with the wrong things.
Near the old lion cage, a tidy cursive script says You did this to us. This is America muttering to itself in the kitchen before stumbling off to bed.
