When I first moved to NYC awhile back, I’d heard of a band called, “Homesick for Space.” I loved the name because there was never enough room for anything in New York, and I thought that everyone who lived there was probably homesick for space. Read More
“I’m sorry.” When’s the last time you said or typed that exact phrase?
In my mind I see a sculpture of a giant ball of twine. It’s huge and made of concrete, and it sits there sturdy and unmoving, like a menace, yet comforting.
It’s dark, and we all face forward. Here and there, a small screen glows, and occasionally, someone walks by offering beverages. In my dreams, old lovers are trying to kiss me. And my old apartment takes on more romance and sophistication than it had in life. Soft light glows down angularly from the heavens through the tall windows, and people admire my sparse furnishings. I grin, like I knew it all along.
Typing a letter with thumbs to myself at 3 in the morning… Just some scattered thoughts, really. Wanted to see if things came out differently when just using thumbs.
Lately, I’ve been feeling quite clear-headed, and in a strange way that’s made me less apt to blog. Rather I’m immersing myself in the study of drama, of Shakespeare and how the works are played, of current works of cinema and how they’re consumed — big screen? Small screen? Medium-sized flat screen?
Last year, I said something crazy. I said, “I don’t like Paris that much.”