In these quiet days of dark rooms to evade summer, I often pace the sidewalks at night, extending the dark environment to its logical end. If life were only this, if there were some way to study, to absorb the strange, wonderful, disturbing events of these turbulent times, to create, to write… but this is only a lull. … read more...
.…to the pavement, the whistle of machines blasting through the corridors. Behind glass, the operators remain outside my field of view. It’s as if the vehicles themselves are alive. The few people who are visible have little time to engage with me, so the mood is contained—or maybe the absence of contact creates the feeling—a subtle quiet that depends on … read more...
As I struggle to employ myself, I step soundly on the pavement. This year will be telling, but the drama does not often pull me from the work. The quiet pervades. … read more...
Here on the sidewalk even the wild grasses have their story – the broken glass, the paper folded and torn in a specific way – everywhere evidence of the whirlwind of human activity;… read more...
Forms to fill out, an acupuncturist asks about surgeries: PCL repair (harvested hamstring), appendicitis, fractured skull. Afterward, drifting through the city, I partly exist as a phenomenal element, more a flickering node that passes through the membrane in florescent pulses … read more...
The end, and the beginning of an era of American repression and gluttony, of casual decadence among the ghosts of corporate excess. I feed and brood and wander the streets. … read more...