Ah, I remembered the Midwestern insanity: laundromats that doubled as places of worship and Crock-Pots simmering cocktail wieners in stews of grape jelly and Worcestershire sauce.
Those days, those nights, it felt as though we moved within the carcass of a great animal, a maroon cavern so large we could not comprehend—and we didn’t, not even in that sweet-blooded darkness, we did not.
Love in Amish Country
If the Mennonites and Amish have anything to offer about romance, it’s this: a heavy book of death and torture, a love letter to all their pursuers, their captors and executioners.
Four Short Essays
Dude, you’re huge. Look at your hands. You have these big fucking hands. You are muscles and teeth and hair and, if you were to fill out an online dating profile right at this very moment, you would list as your best feature your PROMINENT FOREHEAD.
draft: the journal of process
Menopause is adolescence all over again, only you are an adult and have to go out into the world every day in ways you did not have to when you were in school, where you were surrounded by other adolescents, safe, or relatively so, in the asylum of junior high. You are a thirteen-year-old with[…]
By dint of declaration the so-called Cinema Verité is devoid of verité. It reaches a merely superficial truth, the truth of accountants. One well-known representative of Cinema Verité declared publicly that truth can be easily found by taking a camera and trying to be honest. He resembles the night watchman at the Supreme Court who[…]