Becoming exacts a cost we rarely anticipate. This melancholy arrives slowly – less a sharp loss than a gradual dissolution of bonds that once seemed unbreakable. It unpacks quietly while you are occupied in the trenches; it settles softly, never making a sound that alerts you to its presence. You remain oblivious, live with it,…
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You wake from a dream and for a brief, unsettling moment don’t know who you’re meant to be. Both the wakeful and dream worlds are equally true in that liminal space. The pillow you’re holding and the lover who just left your arms have the same ontological weight. No less real than the room gradually…
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Just heard Grandma let out a rather sudden hiss that cut through the afternoon quiet like a blade through silk. She is sitting alone at the kitchen table, no book before her, no radio playing, no conversation partner to provoke displeasure. Yet something has reached across time to touch her – some fragment of memory…
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While listening to a talk by Jon Ronson last week, I recalled a childhood experience that I recounted in a letter some time ago. Today, I’d like to share Ronson‘s talk, and will be introducing the talk with this excerpt from the letter: … …It was probably in the American equivalent of sixth grade. Our English teacher presented us with a comprehension…
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