How to Speak to a Materialist
People are always asking, “What would you sculpt were you a sculptor?”
What would you in the barbershop.
What would you in the train station.
Walk past the vines, past the orchards
“The train is delayed,” said the woman.
“Let’s go and have a beer.”
The man lifted his bag off the floor and slung it over his back.
Axiom: you can’t throw anything out of a moving Automobile that doesn’t partake of the nature of the Automobile. If you’re going 60, so’s the apple core.
The Baby Octopus
The baby octopus in my shirt drawer missed the ocean, but she doesn’t know how to tell me that, so I don’t know, and go on petting her head gently morning after morning as I open the drawer and choose that day’s shirt.
from The Piranhas: The Boy Bosses of Naples
The Paranza Comes from the Sea
The word paranza comes from the sea.
Notes from the Birth Year: On Worlds That Leave Us
How easy to simply lift the baby into her crib, to hand her a cup. To watch her pull long sips of milk—cow’s milk—from the spout.
I work out every week with a young man named Jason. He is passionately agnostic, the sort of person who calls up the guy on the religious billboards outside of New Haven . . .
Notes from the Birth Year: On Weaning
Today I boarded a plane. Where does one body end and the next begin?
A shock, that this land, the body to which my life is bound, ends in water.
According to my mother, her oldest sister Hope was a beauty and a tyrant. By the time I met her, however, she was an “old maid” of about forty . . .
Notes from the Birth Year: On Mind and Memory
Today I am thinking about the mind’s relationship to memory, and how my daughter is old enough now that there are things she does not remember about her life.