Oct
23
2017
Rain
Monday
High 67° / Low 46°
Chance of Rain
Tuesday
High 52° / Low 40°

The Moment After Section :: Page 5

  • BLOG— Vote! Vote! Vote!

    The first time I headed to the polls, I was six. It was 1980, a watershed year in national politics, and my elementary school held a mock-contest among the three candidates.

  • BLOG— Alive in Bechtlandia

    Finally, hunched over in supplication, I practically clawed at the next Docker-clad salesperson I saw and got the beautiful specificity of “aisle nine.” At that moment, no words in the English language were more splendid. Aisle nine. Possibly the world’s shortest, most perfect poem.

  • BLOG— Leaf-fall morning

    The world is always on the verge of being something else. Call it the temple/missile effect. I think the world’s drawn double, like an optical illusion.

  • BLOG— Street Fairy magic

    Ahead in the dimness, I heard bells. A belly dancer was jingling my way, still costumed and ringing from wrist to ankle. She smiled as she passed, enjoying the sleigh-bell sound of her own trot, I think.

  • BLOG— Down the rabbit hole

    My legs were pumping at a rate that suggested the Rabbit’s “I’m late, I’m late!” more than the dreamy, psychedelically mellowed Caterpillar. Every time I noticed how fast I was going, I slowed down. That’s all you can really do: notice, and let your grip go.

  • BLOG— Do I repeat myself?

    More reliably than memory, writing holds the trace of who you were and are. Often this is talked about in terms of measuring the distance between the two.

  • BLOG— Scenes from an interview

    She paused. I paused. Ross seemed to read my mind, or my raised eyebrows. “Yup, raw fish in the blender.” It was an ordinary kitchen blender, I saw later. Perfect for fish frappes!

  • BLOG— Refusing to bend

    Suppleness, or its lack, is on my mind, and not just because the world is experiencing its annual arteriosclerosis. Change, any change, triggers in me a sort of panic.

  • BLOG— The ends of things

    It’s 90 fierce degrees outside, but summer is done. Labor Day arrives to wake us from the green dream.

  • BLOG— Block party, circa 1984

    Time was wrinkling. I was leaving one party and stepping into another, long past.

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