Recent Work

The Mindfuck

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.

We Didn’t

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.

Who Is Greg Stalfa and What Does He Mean?

We thought he might be a giant, which made me anxious. I suggested we procure a number of large forks. Leah imagined he would arrive in a ski mask. Melissa theorized a boom box and thong.

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.

"I was stoned, and Carl Sagan spoke to me, and I saw that my task was to only write books worth remembering. I saw each book was a love letter to the aliens."

draft: the journal of process