Essays
Walking in the silence and Cicadas
We lost Dolly Parton today, although it will no longer be today when you read this.
Got What You Need
I wrote a zine for a video game about a non-existent future where music saves the world, and it consumed me.
Pray for a true peace in space
I had no words for myself in the late 1980s when I obsessed over Metroid in the basement, only ideas. Desires that questioned the body, how it might be broken down and rebuilt into something better, even when I was so young.
Baby where’s a feast for the smile?
Hard, near impossible, to write so joyously about being so tired, and if you did not speak the language you would never know that these songs all feel so close to weary hearts.
An empty bit of good.
Let the machine work and drain and sputter and purge, may we dance and clap at what meagre pleasures it can conjure.
Make it easy, only just for a little while
I used to be on Google street view.
Blog Posts
All my lies are always wishes
I needed a pen. I’ve also been deep in a tiger pit of depression lately, and it seemed like a good idea to pit these two things against each other. Draw a cure from the blood of necessity.
These hands, that have known metal
It’s been years since they have touched my hands, but still I remember how it felt to hold them. The sensation, of dirt sliding along the palm as metal bars are moved and shifted in space, is pleasant in its own gritty kind of way. How the metal always
Essays
Any hammer you can hold
This is the nature of a tool, which is only ever just a thing and nothing more. An item that exists in the world, that you might hold in your hand and learn to master, with tricks and secrets to its nature.
Blog Posts
They say if you look hard enough, you find your way back home
If you have ever felt self-destructive, and if your brain has ever spoken to you in words of flames, then you might hear memories of yourself in Cornell.
Imitations of Life
There’s a special kind of soap for hands that perform the kind of labour where dirt and grime and things soak into the skin. Fast Orange, as it's called, comes in an orange bottle, and smells accordingly of sweet and bitter citrus. And you would be right
Blog Posts
Cool Rocks on the beach when the water has retreated
I learned that men don’t like how I write about music, or how I write at all. One wrote me to say that I don’t write about the chords when I write about music, it’s always just about feelings.