Tag Archives: Philadelphia

Lines (of longitude and latitude)

Though the tree is dead, it’s home to a lot of bugs, birds and bats, you can tell by the holes. It’s like the abandoned factory across the street from our apartment in Philadelphia that became home to the homeless, … Continue reading

Posted in prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 12 Comments

Who’s really sitting around crying now, getting drunk over Mark Smith?

When I moved to Philadelphia in 1995 there was a record store off South Street with an old speaker out front, and the first time I heard “The NWRA” (The North Will Rise Again) it was there, bleating out, getting … Continue reading

Posted in music | Tagged , , , , , , | 6 Comments

“Birth Ritual” | Field notes from the Pacific coast

When Chris Cornell died it was the same as with Johnny Cash. I woke to my 6 AM radio program and they were playing a Soundgarden song, then a second one (which was strange), and by the third one I … Continue reading

Posted in identity, Memoir | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 16 Comments

The Sponge Factory diaries (Philadelphia, ’95)

Perhaps Philadelphia got its edge from the fact the major ordered the bombing of a house in a residential area in 1985, a house with children and potential convicts inside, or perhaps it was like a jealous younger brother to … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir | Tagged , , , , , , | 17 Comments

I sat with the same sadness I fell in love with

The buzz of some lawn equipment and jets overhead, when it stops the birds fill in. The hammock between two ponderosa pines on the outskirts of our property, a two-person version that kind of swallows you, I hold my book … Continue reading

Posted in musings, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 15 Comments

Look what phase the moon got into

I still have the handwritten note from the guy who refinished our hardwoods when we moved into this house in 2010: how to clean them, the right ratio of vinegar to water, don’t over-wet the mop. His name was Roy … Continue reading

Posted in musings, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

‘Is evil something you are, or something you do?’

We’ve hung a roadside atlas of Scotland over the door in our flat, draped there like something we shot and dragged in for drying — it looks so big on paper, but you can see much of it we’ve covered … Continue reading

Posted in travel, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 25 Comments