The good thing about historical responsibility is that you don’t have to interrogate it too much — you can just run with it.

To the extent that such exchanges are recognizable to the point where a chuckle turns into vague discomfort, Zomparelli’s collection paints a fairly accurate life of urban, or urban-adjacent, cis-gay men.

OROGENY generates mountains; dynamite destroys them. The cycle is complete; the circle closes. Or perhaps not.

The omniscient narrator is essentially supernatural, a source of information that has no real-world antecedent—in reality even divine revelations are not considered universally trustworthy.

To the extent that such exchanges are recognizable to the point where a chuckle turns into vague discomfort, Zomparelli’s collection paints a fairly accurate life of urban, or urban-adjacent, cis-gay men.

OROGENY generates mountains; dynamite destroys them. The cycle is complete; the circle closes. Or perhaps not.

ANGEL STATION is a seething novel of accumulation, fast, strange, and destructive.

Although Meidav’s writing is lucid and subtly evocative, it really makes no effort to be “lyrical” or “rhapsodic.”

The good thing about historical responsibility is that you don’t have to interrogate it too much — you can just run with it.

“I don’t think imitation is bad, like writing a poem in the style of a poet you admire, but it’s a lot more fun for me to engage them directly. I enjoy wearing my influences on my sleeves.”

To be completely deprived of your freedom. That always has fascinated me.

I don’t write just to see what’ll happen. I’m not interested in hippy art. I’m in conversation with certain things and I work to get all of those things into a unified place.

A typology of the beggar in Western culture.

The contradictions of nostalgic crafting.

The grotesque humor of Ralph Eugene Meatyard’s photography.

We sold ten-dollar juice to people who say, “fuck the rules” while, simultaneously, making the rules.

The omniscient narrator is essentially supernatural, a source of information that has no real-world antecedent—in reality even divine revelations are not considered universally trustworthy.

To live is to wade through constant endings.

That this essay is published, that you are reading it, does not suggest that I have arrived at the right way to talk about Juliana Hatfield’s music, why it matters to me, and why that mattering might matter to you.

Just as angels mediate between humanity and God, announcing His will and drawing us to Him, technologies such as TV deliver messages and incorporate us into the circulatory flow of Western capital, disciplining our desires into the form of the consumer this order demands.