i'm obsessed with shorts. short. stories.
it’s always hard to pick the best books you’ve read until it isn’t. they jump out at you. 2018 was a difficult year for obvious and less obvious reasons: the news cycle continued anxiety-provoking, and there were personal losses in my life that i won’t go into because they’re difficult–death and loss and the inevitable … Read more
1. my MIL bought the Kirby at a yard sale for $50. it was in its original case, mint condition. 3. i was wary of the Kirby at first glance; I didn’t think something so old would be useful. 4. my MIL had to talk me into the Kirby when she offered it to me. i think my … Read more
dear imaginary readers of this blog, please read/listen to this interview of denis johnson. Lying Down in the Dirt: An Interview with Denis Johnson
i find a bottle of unopened vodka in my 18 y.o.’s closet and enquire. i don’t know where that vodka came from, she says. is it yours? uh, no. oh. i just found it in my closet. it came from somewhere, i say and wait. nothing. when i find the $15.67 charge for uptown liquor* … Read more
my father’s work gloves rest on the handles of the wheel barrel; they hold the shape of my father’s hands, worn from splitting wood and stacking it in the shed, raking and burning leaves. my father’s work gloves are marked with blood, earned when he lost his footing on the wood pile; the chainsaw bucked. my … Read more
this year i’m giving short stories their own list because they fucking deserve it.** and besides, there’s too much of an emphasis on novels. but keep in mind that i don’t always read collections in their publication year. i mix it up. some of the collections i read this year are older (like 20 years … Read more
i read a lotta books in 2017 but i lost track, didn’t properly record them. the year was too much, too much. i’m working from memory here; please forgive me, please forgive my omissions. i am too little and too much. 2017 was an absolute shit show from a reading perspective because, as a news … Read more
ciphers obscured by clouds shooting, failing at shining, losers wearing ripped euro-trash jeans and scuffed biker boots streaking across a velvet curtain smoking hand-rolled cigarettes in the lounge at the airport in Rome impervious to the fake gods that named them typical teenagers planets are the real deal, solid