Losing stuff, mean people, hair in my food... I rant a bit. And hope for something better.
2018, my optimism is as great as my fear. Be glorious, and grow no more.
The passage of time is horrifying to face and acknowledge. But can it lead to something beautiful?
A discussion with the creator of the Misaviv Hebrew Circle Calendar.
I woke up in utter confusion, my body half-off the bed, my mind buzzing with questions.
What is age? What is truth? What is time? If I feel like I’m 18, or 28, or whatever, why can’t I be?
My thoughts while observing Brown University's class of 1939
A poem that squeezes humor and even transcendence out of my obsessiveness, ineptitude, and rotten choices. I'm guessing many can relate in various ways.
We're always talking about "it." It is glorious outside. It is a shame. But what IS this "it"?
This is a strictly non-medical way of looking at pain relief.
