It’s Time for Christmas Music
We have this unfortunate habit of dieting joy and worshiping scarcity.
We have this unfortunate habit of dieting joy and worshiping scarcity.
Every wondrous realization of truth begins with making your imagination big enough to hold it.
Maybe it’s the patriarchy, maybe it’s Maybelline.
“We live side-by-side with death.” And we are allowed to be afraid of it.
Ruins should horrify us—grim testaments to our permanent impermanence
“You’ve got it the wrong way around,” I imagine Tolkien saying.
Discipline is cool. A fascination with violence is not.
Are our true selves buried under all our stuff?
This is a stock-image city. Sharp. Neutral. Orderly.
I decide that I do believe that King Arthur sat here. It will make the climb worth it.
The prejudices of this world are irrationally essential to your make-believe one.
It’s not a tomb in a solid or permanent way, not a grave. This is the gilded foyer to another world.
We never see anything but the familiar.
My experience on Upward has largely been a strange dance—two people wobbling with Jesus awkwardly in the middle.
It will sneak up on you, young writer, the temptation to use the power of your words in monstrous, bloody ways.
I’m in that stage of life where you pack up constantly, and you keep your friends close and your friends with pick-up trucks closer.
Where is the line is between voyeur and vigil-keeper?
The poppies were there first.
We will make jewelry from objects that remind us of better times, lost people, and lost places
American houses have a habit of being walled up. But we are undeterred.
It does manage to pass the Bechdel Test, but the Bechdel test isn’t exactly a trial by Gom Jabbar.
“Does the basement bedroom still hold the amber scent of pipe smoke?”
I stand stuttering in russet light, intimidated by the scornful bartender and the lack of menu. Am I just supposed to divine what’s on tap?
The core value of The Office is that apathy is cool.
Many wounds are bound with blessing.
The advantage of painting soup is that everyone understands it.
When I bought those beautiful bee coffins at the craft-fair, I could hear the hum of things changing.
“Come Thou Fount” slaps when you speed up the tempo.
How do we love monsters without perpetuating their monstrosity?
Challenge yourself in the produce aisle. Make something adults make.