Faded Graffiti Like a Vanished Wish
It’s one of those days when it feels like the world’s got its hands in my pockets.
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The Spirit of the Information Superhighway
It’s like some mythical creature from the past has wandered into the middle of a twelve-land expressway.
People Behaving Poorly in Glossy Architecture
We convinced ourselves our tweets were important, newsworthy, career-making, or, god forbid, agents for social change, and it made us crazy.
Another Sleepless Night for Reasons Unknown
My bedtime programming hums with the static of insomnia.
Repetition Is Where Things Get Interesting
A shift in the light on the running trail. An unexpected connection on page 172.
A Body of Water Was Named After a Man Who Was Roasted Alive
William Gibson has nothing on the Catholics.
There Would Be Less Screaming
I often imagine my writing sessions should be quiet and humble, like those stern Dutch paintings of solitary women making lace in solemn bands of light.
A House Always Made of Freshly Chopped Wood
I still have vivid dreams that my mother is still alive; I find her sitting at a kitchen table in a tiny house by the sea, living under an assumed name.
Some Faceless Behemoth Purchased It
Combing through eighteen years of digital cruft has led me down an unexpectedly emotional walk down memory lane.
The Bare Trees Reveal New Scenery
All the leaves are on the ground now, and the bare trees reveal new scenery.
Sleep Has a Moral Dimension
If someone behaves atrociously, we wonder how they sleep at night.
Sometimes You Can’t Find the Door
Perhaps it becomes self-fulfilling to imagine the future as stern and forbidding.