Running

I was running the other night, heaving and hauling myself across 85th Street, when something clicked. I’d been ruminating about the novel I’ve been writing and rewriting for an embarrassing number of years. With each draft, my story got a little better, but something still wasn’t working.

Sunset: 6:35pm. Moon: Waning crescent. Weather: Mostly sunny with a high of 75, partly cloudy tonight with a low of 54 degrees and a light southwest wind. I always wake up too early on Saturdays because I’m excited it’s Saturday. This morning I went for an ugly

The body remembers slowly and forgets very quickly.

A heatwave is settling over New York City, and the streets are filled with the silence that heavy heat brings. Voices seem to carry further. At sunset I went for a sludgy run. These days my running soundtrack is an odd mixture of glitch, gloom, and ‘70s rock: Autechre, Fleetwood

A hot and muggy Sunday, the kind of day that’s begging for a thunderstorm. At dusk, it finally came, followed by another wall of humidity. We had a pleasant June for a while, but the long mean heat of summer is finally here. Beyond this, I’m losing the

An uneasy grey day like a hangover from yesterday’s sunshine. I went for an ugly run, stopping every few miles to ring the sweat from my shirt. Running is one of the few concrete things I can do to prepare for apocalyptic times. Lately I’ve been running to