Imagine standing over your dying father’s bed—his neck broken, but his soul committed to finishing his life’s work. I mean this in the loosest possible sense. But he did not: his Life’s Work, to his dying mind, was a set of articles he had started, and never finished, when he was twenty. That, and a …
Something New: Something Old
I have a new hobby. I dance in hospitals. Not only hospitals: the street, the bus stop, walking through security to the hospital. Walking through security and back home. A home. These are my haunting grounds; I dance in them all. It started yesterday, as I was waiting for the bus to the hospital, after …
All of the Worlds 