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Tag Archives: William G. Gillespie
Now I think simplicity relates to space. Epicurus had only his garden, his lentil porridge. Sick, I ambled through mine, caring little for what went on beyond the picket fence. Every morning, a bowl of muesli. Endlessness and novelty I … Continue reading
Trivia, goddess of the crossroads, according to Catullus. The poets couldn’t agree on one story, so they placed her at the junction, named her goddess of the hunt, the moon, the pain of childbirth and death. You can have everything … Continue reading
Nobody needs it. Plenty has been said— plus the light through my blinds is enough. Or when, on winter nights, the windows acquire a glow from the newly rested snow. Or when I trace the shadow of a streetlamp, or … Continue reading
After Byung-Chul Han Every deviation manifests as an image, ready-made like a suit off the rack, a package to be unpacked or returned. Here’s the crux: my anathema is another man’s uniform. Meaning, the division of categories and ironies is … Continue reading
It happened so suddenly. The city stood still, and a silence like sunlight cascaded around me. It was as if I could hear the otters flopping in the Gowanus Canal three miles south, the steam of an espresso machine dampening … Continue reading
Midnight, and I stare at an empty tin of tobaccoless pouches, a paperback on the science of adult attachment I’m noncommittal about. Shame returns as if by the open window, like a naked crab scuttling around for a carapace— armor … Continue reading