To The Children: Pre-Recorded

    Pre-Recorded. So sorry. Not writing. Reflections? Have there be any? Any Self? Napping, wake-me when something changes. Living. Time-passages. Daily routines. Patterns to lean upon. Propped-up by daily concerns. Every timeless now, and thens which pass unseen, I rub my sleepy eyes. Sitting on my terrace in the chilly, late evening air, my attention on the phone, swiping…

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To the Children: Fading Recollections

In the summer of 2017, we drove west. Chicago faded slowly because we drove slowly. I didn’t have time or space to double-down my focus or attention on the magnitude of the moment. Whatever attention I could muster was used to keep us safe, sense the car’s performance, and navigate traffic. I wanted to live, to bear witness to the…

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To the Children: Summer of ’17

The summer of 2017, while our seventh or eighth consecutive car camping adventure, was fresh and lively, like a new birth. Trailing our eleven-year-old car was a small U-haul trailer, packed with all of our belongings. We departed Chicago with a 4x5x4 container of things, and drove west. We had suspect confidence that the car would pull the trailer. Would…

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To the Children

It’s a story that I will tell. The negotiations with myself have not gone well. Logic, good-taste, and style have conversed, subtlety lobbied by my sub-conscious and conscious yearnings and the result? A self-justified abstinence or privacy. Considerations of exhibitionism. The wish for approval. The care-taking of a self-image, despite being uncertain which picture I present. Whatever I do, prescribed…

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