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the trains still run

They never taught us more than how to make things. They did not explain how to take pictures, or write stories, or record songs when the walls are falling down. What should you paint when the sky is falling? And yet, they taught us all we needed to know. As I have begun to understand over and over again, all art is political. All freedom is freedom. The trains still run. The cameras can still be loaded with fresh rolls of film that smell of plastic and possibility. If there is a pothole, at some point it gets filled. Sometimes it just takes a hell of a long time to happen.

The sun rises. Children trundle around in the snow, laughing, falling down and getting back up again. Yes, the news is unthinkable. Yes, the headlines are poisonous enough to make you throw things out the window. But there is still dinner to cook, and why not make it delicious? Why not crack an egg, or laugh wildly at nothing in particular?

There was a night, about eight years ago when I was told that the militia w…

the year of the rabbit (is never over)

How to believe in shooting stars

nothing

panthers, crows and sparrows

red pen, red blanket

the only thing that matters is what is in the picture

the zoo

two steps back, one step forward

this is the city

pictures (some from the windows)

in-between (there is no name)

How to drink coffee

the chapter to finish

the idiots and the children

Finish all of your soup and then you can have spaghetti

tooth fairies and curly fries (the torture museum)

Wake up, no Katz's

the first day (a dress rehearsal)

best personal blogs
best personal blogs