The Slow Death of the Family Photograph
We take more pictures than any generation in history. Almost none of them will survive us.
First-person writing on memory, place, and the interior life.
We take more pictures than any generation in history. Almost none of them will survive us.
A drowned village, a reservoir drawdown, and the strange grief of seeing the past resurface.
Half-built cathedrals, abandoned novels, and the case against completion.
It still takes quarters. Nobody calls. A meditation on urban leftovers.
You never become fluent. You only stop noticing the accent.
The optimization of everything has made us worse at the one thing that matters: paying attention. A confession from inside the cult of systems.
After she died, we divided the room between us. I got the spoons, and the silence.
Five hundred miles of blisters, strangers, and the stubborn persistence of meaning. A confirmed atheist walks the Camino Francés and finds he cannot explain what he found.