Dispatch № 63: No Return

The already-slippery concept eventually all but entirely lost its meaning after years as an emigrant and only regained some of its significance years after settling in Japan.

Dispatch № 62: The Bike of Theseus

But it was a bike, and it was mine. A ticket to personal mobility and a way to get out of my apartment and get out of my head.

Dispatch № 61: But Only Just

It falls on stone statues with both facial features and inscriptions worn indecipherable by centuries of exposure to the elements.

Dispatch № 60: Skyglow

Many years later, I laid down and gazed up from the floor of the Gobi Desert, a place with a sky so dark that the Milky Way practically slaps you in the face. There’s no missing it.

Dispatch № 59: Untethered

I lost track of the cicadas in a span of weeks during which I was trying to put my head back together and in a general state of tunnel-vision.

Dispatch № 58: Meandering

If you find yourself at an intersection with a choice between roads that seem equal, choose your bath based on something specifically arbitrary. Choose the street with the sauntering cat, for example, or the one with the yellow house.

Dispatch № 57: Glitch

The world vibrated and sang for a brief time, and there was a sense of building pressure, as when one dives deep underwater.

Dispatch № 56: Music, Remembered

Music connects memories like a string of fairy lights that comes on when a song flips the switch of spontaneous recollection.

Dispatch № 55: Emergent Remains

Nothing stays buried forever. No matter how deep in the sand, eventually things emerge. What happens after that, though, is anyone’s guess.

Dispatch № 54: Resident Alien

When it rains, they emerge from the ground and hunt.