ICE IN A WOODEN BOXRead More
We like to think the Maestro believes in something—we like to believe everybody believes in something. Perhaps he sees his temple in the Kaka‘ako construction sites at dusk, its chorus as the interminable traffic down Ala Moana Boulevard and Nimitz Highway. . .Read More
Whole Life | Home | Unauthorized AutobiographyRead More
On Twitter, she shares reviews of her recent memoir, which is being touted as reinvention of the form. Meanwhile, on my Twitter, I posted a picture of a California Raisins coffee mug I found at the thrift store. It was 99 cents, and it says “Merry Christmas 1988.” A grand new vessel for my tears. . .Read More
Neurosis Tercets | Gauche LandscapeRead More
You couldn’t look like a black Harvey Fierstein in drag, live to be in your sixties, and not have learned a thing or two about surviving. . .Read More
Tom the Gator-Fiend, professor emeritus of medieval studies, was the first person to notice how the gators threatened to break free in search of sustenance. Over weeks of daily bird-watching, he noticed a sharp decline in the numbers of brown thrashers and tufted titmice. . .
I mostly think I’m tethered to those sidewalks, and those cracks form an autobiography where the roses figure the concrete. I get weak knees thinking of who transfigures what and will we still live to see the rain? Look how long the days are. . .
At night you hear it again, the thunder breaking the sky, the sky flinging complicated rain against the glass windows, threatening to come in. . .