They say we live in extraordinary times and should keep notes. They say we will be valuable to historians. It’s nice to think of value returning to us, as we stay home to avoid the virus, as we pace our cages, as we rot. So here’s my effort. I wake up at 11 AM andContinue reading “Our Plague Year: How we keep busy, how we keep going and the ones we are losing”
I have never trusted my body. I have rarely trusted those who DO trust their body.
Today, to raise money for The New York Immigrant Fund’s Let My People Go campaign, I offered to write at least 200 words for whoever gave at least 18 dollars, on the topic of their choice. The offer is still standing, and I’m still writing, but here is the second piece I wrote, on theContinue reading “Writing to #FreeThemALL pt. 2”
Today, to raise money for The New York Immigrant Fund’s Let My People Go campaign, I offered to write at least 200 words for whoever gave at least 18 dollars, on the topic of their choice. The offer is still standing, and I’m still writing, but here is the first piece I wrote, on theContinue reading “Writing to #FreeThemALL”
I exclusively wore yellow shirts between the ages of 15 and 27. It was a desperate adolescent affectation, a hail-mary pass attempt at a personality, that simply continued way, way too long due to depression and stubbornness. Despite that, there are bright spots. Many friends who I made in that era fondly associate me withContinue reading “Our Plague Year: Spots of color”
There’s a little triangle of pavement there, that the city has condescended to green, and a fountain. The triangle is surrounded by shops. It’s called Father Demo Square.
I’m not afraid. Everyone around me is afraid, and I’m not, and I don’t know why.
I hung up on my friend, the Messiah.
I do not perfectly remember the Mirage Diner, the restaurant I ate at throughout my childhood. Despite the neon signage and the chrome accents mirroring and amplifying the 24/7 fluorescent lighting, it is still possible-in many respects, uniquely possible-to find darkness in my Mirage; I fail to see each detail, I forget certain corners. WasContinue reading “The Mirage: An Elegy”
What if instead of advertisements, digital billboards in Manhattan showed pictures of the people who most recently left the city for good, never to return? An endless scroll of strangers who gave up on the dream of New York City? What then? What if instead of CATS or Lion King running forever on Broadway, itContinue reading “New York City, Some Suggestions in the Form of Questions, From Your Departed Son”