Crash. Boom. Opera. (Or: My Bike Crash in the Clear Light of Day.)
Thump. Thump. Thump. The sound of a kid doing basketball drills, bouncing the ball in that monotonous way. The picture of the afternoon sunlight on a driveway, the passing of time marked by the mundane. The beat. The beat. The beat.
The Architecture That Isn't
Over the years, I've noticed whenever there's been a demolition in an area I think I know pretty well, I still can't for the life of me remember what used to be there before the crews blew it up or tore it down.
The dream I dreamed.
A dream I had in mid-July: I was walking among houses that had paths between them.
Part III: The End of Foreboding
An innate relationship with loss. A desire to corral the darkness. Acceptance of the lifespan of my work. A hope to move forward with dignity.
Part I: The Start of the End
Sometimes I have the opposite of that common fear: The Fear of Dying. Instead I have: The Fear of Living Too Long. I’m sure the two are related. Who's to say how long is too long? ...