Why do I write?

It’s different every day. Today, for instance, I feel like an entire hive at work within me. Bees have partitioned my bones into their waxy cubicles. Their buzzing is the backdrop rhythm of a city in motion and my thoughts are a sweet elixir on my throat. Writing lets me do this; pour honey from …

Rejected

Well, they pulled the trigger and I can’t say I’m surprised. It’s hard to think what I have to say is important when every letter has “sorry to inform you” in the second line. What am I supposed to do with that? Pull up the planks of those sentences and nail together a raft as …

Friday

This hour seems truly godless. This dark hour alone, when everyone is asleep or crying through their prayers, and sweating blood isn't a problematic symptom. Everyone's sweating blood now. Get a wipe, get a mask. You're not special in your suffering. This hour seems truly godless. This loud hour when the masses are the murderers. …

Saturday

What is it about these days that used to be so sacred and intimate? How I’d measure my time between settlements, watching diligently for the anomaly of civilization among the weeds until I finally arrived at their gates? How every moment between was just a matter of waiting, not being, not real like my Saturdays? …

When it’s Okay for Dreams to Die: A Journey through “It’s a Wonderful Life”

“It’s a Wonderful Life” remains as relevant as ever even as it comes up on 73 years. Every year when Christmas is well underway, I rewatch it and feel something new, which isn’t something I can say about any other movie. Part of it is me getting older, but I would say most of it's …

late night thoughts

At the end of the day, when the living room lights are long since asleep, when the candied orange streetlight peers through the blinds and gushes over the static-washed room, when the covers lean over the edge of the bed, would I say it was worth it? I think so.