Search

subscribe

I wrote a letter to a friend

I wrote a letter to a friend today and inside that letter — which was not a letter but something like a letter sent by electronic mail — I composed my feelings into something like feelings. And it’s a pattern, my tendency to compose somethings like. It’s not a pattern but something like a pattern, something I do again and again, with or without noticing, with or without intention. Mine is not a compulsion, but something like a compulsion, for I am compelled to be something like me so that people like me. Not just people but something like people — specific persons who specifically like me but might not if I was anything else but something like me.

Something about this is unsettling, and settling.

For although there is something like disappointment every single time, something like failure; there is something like relief because something remains; this something is due, in fact, only to the space between the letters.

Is Music an Actual Time Portal?

Lately, I’ve noticed how listening to music that “takes me back” can be both uplifting and gut-wrenching, depending on the music, or on my mood,…

So You’ve Outgrown Your Dream Dictionary

Have you woken up from a dream curious about what it meant, only to go online to search for its “meaning” and find yourself reading…

Search

subscribe