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One morning, you take yourself out on your morning walk and notice the birders have descended. Their telescopic lenses are trained on a cluster of black-brown-white birds squabbling on the ice in the far distance. You squint, you can’t tell what they are. Hawks, maybe? Geese, you guess? ‘Tis the season, but the shape is…
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My dog is going to report me to the ASPCA. The heat of the day wears off into a warm, easy hush. I have an alarm set for it, 7:30 PM, an hour before sunset so I can walk my shag carpet of a dog without worries of him baking beneath his lush fur coat.…
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Oh, Coyote, all your wiles come to naught in the headlights on the highway. By morning, your blood dried brown on the concrete, body shattered and thrown aside in shocked repose while your killer thundered ever onward. Dear Squirrel, did you dream of your last flight through the air? The last coil of your spring-legs…
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And now, a real-time cataloguing of my favorite signs from the Hands-Off protest on the typically sleepy little main street of my hometown:
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Experimentation into the function of dreaming coalesce into one major theory: dreams are the subconscious mind’s own personal method of problem solving. Most dreams are nonsense, unremembered consequences of a sound command to “sleep on it” and awaken with fresh eyes and no knowledge of how you got there. But, if you’re like me, you…
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The problem with being an achiever is the achievements. When you’re still in school, they come at a steady clip. A on the midterm, on the term papers, in the socratic seminars, in the videogames you still have time to play, in the number of shots you down in one night and still go to…
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15 minutes before I have to get my brain up and moving for a 2-part science lesson on fake dinosaur tracks for an eighth grader. This gets me up at 7, bleary eyed and exhausted from a creaking bed, my dog confused and offended that he must begin his daily herding of humans a full…
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Life is a series of deaths, the most devastating of which occurs upon deciding there is nothing more worth learning. No opinions worth hearing that don’t validate your own, no more care for why the grass is green, for the stories the constellations are named for, for the sleeping giants in the museums. This is…
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Soup was the first food I learned how to make myself — chicken noodle, dumped from the can and into a pot and heated so my mom could wash her hands of me and return to work with a closed office door. Then began the raids on the spice cabinet: oregano, cayenne pepper, nutmeg for…
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The modern age is oft set on attaching our identities to objects. The things we own, the things we buy, what we can and can’t afford, and what that says about us to the culture as a whole. Objects act as our flags of wealth, identifiers. Find your aesthetic, your wardrobe staples, decorate in farmhouse…
from the pen of icarus blake 