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Latest — 03 Apr 2025

“Are you gonna leave me soon?”

A few weeks back, Sid is in my dream, standing in a galley kitchen that isn’t mine. She’s looking up at me in her wide-leg stance and doe eyes with the smoky liner. “Are you gonna leave me soon?” I ask her in my dog voice: high pitched

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my tortillas are neat

A few weeks back, I’m in another dreamscape, this time it’s a work/organization situation. I’m around a table with colleagues and we’re doing an icebreaker/warm-up. It’s a mash-up of rose/bud/thorn and “crabs are…” (I can’t find absolutely anything about this

When a pigeon dies in your lawn

There’s been a dead pigeon in our front yard for weeks. I noticed it in between thaws a while back and left it there. New snow came and covered it again, preserving it. Every feather in tact, its body still bulbous, no other animals have found it for food.

the river

Running in the humidity is a loving squeeze. Pumping arms through thick air, hair sticking to your forehead. Gasps for breath. Pushing legs like you’re swimming on land. Nothing can stay stuck to you when you run in the heat. It’s a full release. The river that raised

corpse flower

I’ve refreshed my browser at least twenty times today, hopeful to spot the first inklings of a flower about to unfurl. It’s the corpse flower, a tall phallic spadix, bulbous bottom, that blooms once every year or two for just a few days, emitting an odor that’s

collage

Collaging makes sense of my madness. My brain going in so many different directions, ruminating, stewing. It calms me. It puts my inner workings in a physical manifestation. Collaging is an act of spirituality. One that, even if not every part of me wants to collage, as soon as I

dad

“Severe separations in early life leave emotional scars on the brain because they assault the essential human connection: The [parent-child] bond which teaches us that we are lovable. The [parent-child] bond which teaches us how to love. We cannot be whole human beings—indeed, we may find it hard to

(re)introducing: comma symbol

We had an Encyclopedia set in the first house where I ever lived. A dedicated bookshelf in the basement with the red bindings in an alphabetical row, the letters guiding you to the topic of interest. I loved skimming through those books, reading any random blurb, running my fingers over

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comma symbol

comma symbol is an exploration into identities that exist in the grey area, the mess, the limbo. a comma is a pause and a connector.

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