Holidays are here, and we’re going to take some time off to enjoy them.

My fingers lingered on a carving knife
in the sink of Emily’s mom’s cheaply rustic
suburban kitchen,

Blue skies and limitless possibilities. Adventure is that-away!

Be distraught, or see that it was for the best. This is a song about allowing the latter.

The holidays. A time for joy and celebration, but it is that very joy and celebration that makes them almost unbearable for those who are less fortunate, or are dealing with loss or grief.

In which an explanation of the events leading to the Burning begins, and David waits to find out what happens next.

Split off center, at an unexpected angle,
now a log and a shim and no studs. Tim insists
it’s fine, the dog won’t know the difference.

This week features my band, WatchPaper. If you’re a fan of smokey piano dirges, then you’d better click now.

Scrambling across rooftops, through half-abandoned buildings, empty parking garages, crumbling industrial parks and barren patches of earth. Such is the daily life of the photographer on assignment.

An off-week for me. So, a bit from my archives. A short, theoretical essay on a type of information life.

We were giants, the Anderson girl
and I, in the flatbed of Jason’s pickup.
We could do no wrong but to each
other, and we did.

Wherein I advocate for quality hooch.

Don’t look back. Don’t retread where you’ve been. Let the rest of the world be morose. Right.

Thanksgiving Weekend in which animals behave badly, children behave recklessly, a turkey carcass is set alight and Hwy 64 is showcased from end to end.