The Writer’s Process
I am just an ant with two sensitive pens stuck to my head.
It takes me days to capture a fleck of meaning.
How often it dissolves in the rain!
At other times the doings of this life
come at . . .
Category Archives: Brick 105
Boneyards of the Cold War
It’s July 2018. Today is the last day of my visit to Siem Reap. Later this afternoon I have to catch my flight, and the thought of being so far away from Cambodia pains me deeply. I have failed to . . .
On Boredom
Let’s imagine it is interesting to think about boredom. The particular boredom of childhood: vague, a bit listless, on the precipice of possibility. Where time is expansive and anything and nothing might pique one’s curiosity, or it might not. The . . .
Sokrates to Krito (letter from prison)
Dear Krito, don’t come today. If you do, I’ll have to pretend to be asleep or ashamed or explain why I sent my wife home. Tears are all about the weeper, aren’t they? My kid has more sense. She was . . .
What Stories Know about Us
I.
A year ago, almost to the day, my friend Enrique de Hériz—novelist, translator, clarinet player, amateur magician, knowledgeable sailor, and marathon runner—was diagnosed with lung cancer. He had been my only acquaintance when I arrived in Barcelona in October . . .