Things Immaterial

I found a moth on my kitchen window, climbing up the screen. It was a large moth, close to an inch, I think— I didn’t measure, and it seemed confused by endless mesh beneath its legs, its feet— fragile, if moths have them, I didn’t check— and morning’s heat, the lack of exits, how it … More Things Immaterial

Hodgepodge

I was looking for a painting, an abstract really, to explain my weeks of absence. None of them were messy enough. Not even Pollock’s. So I started paging through pointillists, and surrealists, and vast scenes of hunts and portraits of serious men at serious undertakings and found my attention straying to the barking dog next … More Hodgepodge

Narration

I talk to myself. When I shop, cook, read, practice (sometimes), go for long walks—I imagine and comment often unconsciously, no matter who’s around. And I always write out loud…always. It’s not enough for me to see characters talk to each other on the page, express themselves through inner monologues, or confess their longings in … More Narration