Sunday, December 2, 2012

beachcombers in the bulwark

It's been a while since I've written here -- a few months removed from a year, actually. There's a new blog in town now, one catered to the needs of my nascent novel. You can find it here:

Quotidie, of course, is Latin for "daily." I'll be writing short posts every day for the next ~550 days on my Tumblr. It won't be a blog that's best checked every day; more like a blog that's best checked every fifteen days, when you can jump over to it and absorb all the small tidbits I've been working on. That way there'll be more of a narrative arc, you know?


The best New Yorker articles, ever

Constantly updated. This is a true work in progress. Every New Yorker article is great -- given a certain threshold -- but these are the ones whose forms and content have actually inspired the stuff I've written.

"Somebody Has to be in Control," Ian Parker.

"You Belong With Me," Lizzie Widdicombe.

"The Aquarium," Aleksandar Hamon.

"Grub," Dana Goodyear.

"The Other Obama," Lauren Collins.

"Master of Play," Nick Paumgarten.

"Alone in the Dark," Philip Gourevitch.

"Keeping it Real," James Wood, on the conventions of the novel

"Holden at Fifty," Louis Menand.

"Everything is Fiction," Keith Ridgeway.

"This week in Fiction: Junot Diaz"

David Hoon Kim. "Sweetheart Sorrow." (

Mikhail Iossel, "Life: How was it?"

Jeffrey Eugenides, "Posthumous."

Donald Hall, "Out the Window."

Saturday, December 1, 2012

Saturday, January 28, 2012

The View From a Hill

Inspiration: Eric Weinstein.

The View From a Hill

A mango turns soft
The hill grows grass and I
do not grow grass
I drop guacamole on my heel

A dress turns soft
My firm hand on her back
very Titanic hand
Handshake awkward when I make to leave

A mango is red
unripe spots sour and bleed
I once-sip soda
courageous in excess sugar

A dress is red
fabric measured and quartered
I see clearly and walk slowly
above potholes of speeding motors

A mango rises in the sky
the sky swallows my sighs and
carves wide lengths to wallow
A galaxy expands that might otherwise dust

A dress rises in the sky
collects deciduous light
My slouch is curved yellow
I am curved not yellow

A mango sits
the flesh turns fibers
to sweet orange soda or a round pothole
a Milky Way spread thick with hummus

A dress sits
on a damp plaid cushion
in the downward slope of the city
in the lantern scope of the city

A mango and a dress turn soft
A mango and a dress rise in the sky
A mango and a dress sit
not long or tough or not enough or not sweet enough, not perfect

Monday, January 2, 2012


is my bowl. A spicy sauce
floats on top, steam

noodles heap in sun
rays. No credit.

Pucker and ladle
stems, beef,

penance into
these lips and teeth,

each bud, feed
me lemon

我, and bend, at the

of every day. Empty
the grit, dark
root dirt.

sake, spake, or would it
be enough

to just chew away, chew away.