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.