This is a series of rewritten journal entries from the summer I spent in the south of France, the first entry here. Allanah and Gregory seem to me a bit bats. It’s more Allanah with her self-taught fortune telling, Gregory’s… Read More ›
Carlos Castaneda
A fair way to go
It is the hour of 4, and the light is best for where I sit on the chaise-lounge, beside the scabby hot tub that’s been dry all summer. The hot tub is kaput because the large fir popped up the… Read More ›
The super, blue, blood moon blues
We got up at 4:30 to watch it, but it was all cloudy. “Discreet music,” I guess. So much for January.
The Death Card | Field notes from the Pacific Coast
This is a series of posts I started in late May and plan to continue for 40 days, with a goal of hitting 50,000 words by July 5. It’s inspired by a three-day solo trek on the Washington coast, with… Read More ›
How the wind played us like an instrument that night
The morning feeding ritual at Mike’s, two dogs, two cats, the quiet crunching of animals chewing, a dishwasher churning, the bathroom fan, the soothing sound of it like rain hitting the roof, going down the drain spouts into the ground:… Read More ›
The French series
COLLIOURE, LANGUEDOC-ROUSSILLON LES BATTERIES 25TH VII 1998 Finally got rid of Sean and Seamus. Sean, my bartender friend from Six Arms but Seamus, some angry Canadian/Irish guy he picked up somewhere along the way in Europe, wears baseball caps with… Read More ›
Just for us
The moon is hanging on by a nail and we are all bound to fall that way too, to rise in the morning and repeat the same cycle: to expand and recede, sometimes close to Earth, sometimes obscured. They make… Read More ›
