I have zero interest in football, which can make it challenging to move through American life.
Reading
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.
Hill House, famously not sane, bothers the soul because Jackson describes the perception of horror, not the horror itself.
The Haunting of Hill House
Maybe I was primed for horror because I woke before dawn on a Sunday morning.
The Fifth Child
Clichés Are Learned the Hard Way
My map is upside down, inscrutable, and probably for a different planet.
I Put a Lot of Faith in Office Products to Solve My Existential Problems
Somnambulist
Gaps and Threads
While explaining myself to the grumpy clerk behind the glass, I realized I had no idea where I legally lived.
Midwinter Inventory
The Memory Police
Broken Scales
Crossroads
Burn yourself completely.
Oryx and Crake
In Steve Erickson’s Shadowbahn, the Twin Towers reappear in South Dakota, wholly intact and without explanation.
Shadowbahn
Temptation
Finished Stephen King’s The Stand today and, even at 1152 pages, I was sad when I read the last sentence, as if a friend had left town for good.
The Potter's Clay
The Fuzzy Line Between Media Consumption and My Soul
Weird
Genre
Glum
Fugue
Attending to the World
Our Broken Sky
Between the Stories
This story has seeped into my dreams, grinding at my thoughts like sand in the teeth.
The Woman in the Dunes
