Day 1: Take Your Time

I’ve always felt that journaling is useless. If you can’t remember it, is it really worth remembering? What’s the point of writing down the minutiae of your little life? Write about politics. Write about art. Write poems with form, songs with meter changes, research papers. Don’t write about yourself. It’s so…self absorbed. It’s so…personal. Who…

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I Dream of Airplanes

Most nights, I dream of airplanes. Last night, I dreamt of one flying low, narrowly missing my childhood home, ripping the neighbors’ houses in half. No one was hurt. No one was home to see their homes cleft by this errant machine. They would arrive home later, tired from work, to see their roofs torn…

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That’s My Band. And We’re Fucking Awesome.

We played to a giant, empty room last night, where great pillars of wood swallowed up the sounds of four hands clapping. It’s not an easy thing, this music business, but you keep on doing it–watching the crowd thin out, telling yourself you’ll play for the love of it and sing for the heart of…

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Paris, je t’aime

For ten days and nine nights we have wandered Paris streets, smelling cheese, pastries, piss, sausages, flowers, falafel; hearing French babies giggle with glee while their mothers wiped cream from their faces; scanning menus; stopping for wine while waiting for the rain to pass; searching out chocolate, and art, and music; drinking in afternoons and…

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The Thong

I was 28 years old when I bought my first thong.  Thongs aren’t made for fat girls, said my brain to me, said commercials to my brain, said porn to my ex lovers. Thongs are made to rest between smooth, firm ass cheeks that fit in the palm of a man’s hand. Thongs are not made…

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Things I Want to Tell You: A Public Service Announcement

I want to tell you why I’m not dieting anymore. I want to tell you, but I am afraid. I want to tell you, in joy, about the rolls that have come back to my arms, the measuring cups and spoons gathering dust in the drawer, the scale gathering dust in the linen closet–but I…

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something small, for Dan and all who loved him

It is April, and our friend is gone. We feel him in warm air and dewy breezes. We hear his booming laugh in the first rumbles of thunder. Yesterday, we remembered him. I silently mouthed the mourner’s kaddish, and the smell of warm soil drifted in through open doors. I sang him to the rafters…

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the second loss

The anniversary can pass unnoticed, but the body remembers. The pall is cast over sunny days. The chest is tight at the sight of sun on bare trees, the smell of bulbs bursting under cold earth. Somehow the anniversary escaped you, but the grief exploded within, shadows dancing in the mind’s eye–church basements, rehearsing songs…

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