Yesterday I lost my last nose ring, an oversized affair with a little row of faux pearls whose nacre has since brushed off to reveal them as translucent plasticky beads. Labour day, and everything closed, so I currently have a gilded paperclip in. Yesterday, I put in a huge orde…
Yesterday you might have read this story this story—absent a lot of the violence, including a car driven into one of those yoga studios(!) —about my fo…
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This weekend I went back to Brighton Beach and swam in the sea for what might even be the very first time. Probably not, considering the broad span of …
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I don’t even know where to begin with the past week, which included more blue-lit drama with my landlord, some unwanted carceral feelings, and one of t…
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The pandemic has been such a time of evaluating. Taking a careful scalpel to things, days feeling alternately crisp and spongy like these images from N…
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Has it really been so long? When the country erupted in flames it didn’t really seem right to keep putting this out, something so intentionally designe…
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This week I feel suspended above the flood. A little agitated, a little immobilised like Gansho-Kun, or this hold my deer situation from floods in Bang…
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This week feels like Arthur Russell’s World of Echo—all spare, strange, sueded optimism. I’ve returned to it at many different points in my life, and l…
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