Dispatch № 102: You’re Doing Me a Favor

Already, I’ve given away a half dozen old film cameras, a flash, a tripod head, two avocado trees, a couple old messenger bags, the fountain pen and ink, and a small variety of other things.

Dispatch № 100: Going Deep

Mounds of burnable garbage, bundles of cardboard, stacks of old clothes bound with twine, old furniture broken down into pieces, sandwich bags full of old batteries—just about anything you can imagine, really, and the volume increases strikingly as December’s days run out and the new year approaches.

Dispatch № 98: Ode to the Kotatsu

A poem about my favorite piece of furniture

Dispatch № 86: Falling Into Patterns

If I am still contentedly cooking her breakfast forty years from now, I’ll consider that a great personal success in a life well lived.

Dispatch № 83: Bulging

The bag of plastic recycling comically large and overstuffed to bursting, like a farcical suitcase.

Dispatch № 80: The Old Life

In the winter months, kerosene trucks drive slowly through neighborhoods in the evening, making their presence known with a repeating announcement played over a loudspeaker, accompanied by the tune of an old children’s song.

Dispatch № 73: Zones

My old apartment was simple in this way. Leave your shoes at the door and that’s it. No other changes to make

Dispatch № 70: Rainfall

Greatest among the differentiating factors is that of the surface upon which the rain lands, drops of rain like tiny hands striking the skins of myriad drums.

Dispatch № 50: Ode to Fuzz

Because my cat is my most-requested topic

Dispatch № 49: Hushed

In relative terms, it’s a cacophony, and it seems so because it has otherwise been so tremendously quiet that minute sounds are magnified.