Monthly Archives: October 2019
We may not use the same words—God, Jesus, Christ, Brahman, Light, Love?—but language could never be truly sufficient to describe the indescribable anyway.
When my parents brought up college during my junior year of high school, I delivered this zinger: “What’s more important, college or God?”
I’ve been trying to detach from the darkness: the points I feel I failed, times of shame, times of fear.
Just the smile of someone who is in on the secret.
The first thing you should know about cranes is that they don’t like to be ignored.
No one actually protests my ordination or calling; no one says I do not belong. This isn’t the case for some women in certain denominational spaces.
I was tired. I was also tired of myself. So I started class with a poem.
There are many white people in Grand Rapids, and gossiping about dog breeds is, I guess, what we do.
“Fine. How about a chicken?”
I don’t believe in ghosts. I do believe that wicked work cannot be hidden.
I will have you know that you all used to be one of my favorite animals.
One of the things about moving around a lot is that people start to ask you, “Does it feel like home?”
An unexpected call, just before the exam starts. A worried glance down at a phone, a quick “excuse me.”
Love never cancels. But where there are conservative and progressive platforms, they will cease; where there are vigorous debates, they will be quieted; where there is a think piece, it will pass away.
I write because someone once said, “Only two jobs can speak for the dead: detectives and writers.”
When we cannot speak to God, cannot even say the barest “I love you,” we are carried.
Thirteen years later, I realize I made a bad trade. Mom, you were right. No one is surprised.
There’s more than meets the eye
Invisible to the naked eye
I can do that with my eyes closed
You know what? Come to think of it, It’s OK if you don’t enjoy every moment. People are always saying that: “Enjoy EVERY moment!”
You didn’t have to know Bennington’s pain first hand to understand a Linkin Park song.
It’s a tricky balance, the nostalgia and passion of the past against these grim truths that have always existed.
Borges describes a fictional language that completely lacks nouns, and I tried to work out what this might mean in practice.
“How many parking spaces do you think our apartment would take up?”
I’ve peed behind dumpsters, on beaches, in alleys, gardens, parking lots, yards—and yet I was here, in this bathroom, I-can-pee-anywhere-ing in a space created for people who can’t.
I’ve been trying to reframe my perspective by picturing the internet as an attic—one that is full to the brim with all the stuff you couldn’t bear to throw away.
“No, you need to take a right where the soups are. The soups on the boulevard. You know what I’m talking about, right? Because I’m not sure I know what I’m talking about.”
I learned that home is a team sport.
Just a few examples of artists getting playful with neat possibilities afforded by music’s digital presentation.