Memorial Day 2015 and rolling a natural 1

I’ve cried so much lately, and I don’t know why. At least, that's what I tell my wife while I'm crying, that I don't know why. I might know why. We might know why. Our most recent move and everything that has accompanied it has entirely overwhelmed me. ** There was a point at very early in my … Continue reading Memorial Day 2015 and rolling a natural 1

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Snapshot: Ashley and I looking something like adults, circa 2014

We're looking at Rego Park/Forest Hills/Kew Gardens in Queens, which is one extended neighborhood with Forest Hills definitely being the Queen Bee of the bunch, and at Prospect Park South/Flatbush - Ditmas Park in Brooklyn. For context, because I felt inspired to write it, and inspiration comes slim these tired days: Recently, Ashley and I … Continue reading Snapshot: Ashley and I looking something like adults, circa 2014

As Tanya put it, I crap on everything

Some readers feel compelled to remind me that I’m twenty-six. Within that group, a subset tells me (as often as they get the chance) that I do not know everything. But telling an intelligent and ambitious twenty-six year old that he does not have the capacity to understand everything is like telling a teenager that … Continue reading As Tanya put it, I crap on everything

Scream a Song

One of my favorite pastimes is to collect information from writers about writing. Whether it comes in the forms of interviews, essays, books, or word of mouth, I love logging the tidbits away for my own personal use. I see on social networks that people share this pastime, and they show off their passion with quotes. There’s something abstract about the knowledge, though, that’s more worthwhile to authors than any quote could retain outside of context.

Why I write

How do I justify the dichotomy between what I write and what I live? I’m obsessed with the fallibility of life, with frailty and its place in the pursuit of happiness. I can only justify it truly with youth: I want to point out through my art that happyness is not happiness; that is, the American ideal doesn’t measure up to the philosophic and mystic lives and experiences that I’ve read about and participated in.