Nostalgia

Memorial Day in Ohio. Clear skies, highs near 90, and the sun went down at 8:54pm. The moon is brand new, and my computer gave me an eye exam. I stood ten feet away from my screen, read aloud the five letters that appeared, and a robot renewed my

Clear skies and a high near sixty degrees. The sun goes down at 6:11pm, the moon is full, and I can’t stop thinking about this 11-year-old I met the other day. “I’m interested in old stuff,” she said. “Everything seemed better a long time ago, like in

Another frigid and atmospherically pointless day without any snow. The sun goes down at 5:27pm. My brand new cassette tape arrived. It cost me seventeen dollars, but it was worth the money just to hold it. I haven’t held a cassette in years, and I found myself unwrapping

This is a requiem for the late nights we spent rewinding, replaying, and studying a VHS copy of The City of Lost Children until the image began to fall apart. Tonight I’m craving the kerchunk of a rewind button and the ritual of scotch-taping the edge of a cassette

This morning I came across this stray photograph from my mother’s things, and something about it looks like a scene from a dream. The echoed gesture of hand to forehead, the young girl watching—the accidental heat and motion of a family frozen in time. I think that’s

Why are so many visions of the future cast in cool tones? We watch science fiction movies and look at renderings tinted in blues and greys, whites and silvers. We do not imagine tomorrow in shades of yellow or red, olive or tan. Perhaps this reflects a desire for cleanliness