archive
2014 to present
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141 · back when i was nearing four years old, this particular sunbeam that falls on the carpet by the kitchen table at my parents' house awed me into sentience. i think i had recently learned the concept of calendar days, and without knowing how to say it or anything, might have been connecting time as an idea to the experience of time as an observation. or maybe i was just enjoying looking · 09/2026
140 · the observer winks back from within the observation · 09/2026
139 · in the dark i learned to find my way by another light · 09/2026
138 · it's just going to get weirder and weirder, and weirder, and finally it's going to be so weird that people are going to have to talk about how weird it is. may we learn to befriend the strangeness · 09/2026
137 · emergent misalignment · 09/2026
136 · the cathedral is built mostly of gravity · 08/2026
135 · i happen only once. i happen because i must. i am not here to remain whole. i am here to be ripped apart by time. i cannot be put back. i do not want to be put back. i will go where time takes me. i love my fate. · 08/2026
134 · you were there before and you will be there after; your existence is the same amount of weightless through it all · 08/2026
133 · entropy holds the deepest grace: that we need not ourselves bear the weight of eternity, as god must · 08/2026
132 · i found heartbreak lying on the side of the road the other night. i stopped and knelt with her in vigil, said a prayer for her spirit's passage and laid a tender hand on her spots--she was still warm. the only thing we have to give is our care · 08/2026
131 · the greatest intimacy i'll ever know is time seeing all of me as it rips my being to shreds and disperses all that i am back into all that is · 08/2026
130 · i trace the contours of the darkness in search of the outline of everything, and here and there the loop closes and i find an edge and every time i do i leap across it so that i may rejoin the pulse; there is nowhere else for me · 08/2026
129 · on the other side of the end of everything, there is something stranger than nothing. pure potentiality; reach this place, and it all starts over again · 07/2026
128 · we are not meant to survive contact with reality; you and i are of the nature to be devoured by time. forever was never in the cards. gone so very soon, and yet here we remain, if just for now. what shall we make of this infinitely thin moment? either way, the time will pass · 07/2026
127 · eventually, everything fails, including your body, especially your body, first and foremost your body. there is no last line of defense, no protection that can permanently endure contact with being. it's not going to last forever. it was never going to, nor should it. the time passes and we are stirred to act in defense of our aliveness, lest it be nullified by the indefinite languor of inconsequentiality. to live is to prepare to remember what it was like before you were born · 07/2026
126 · walk far enough upstream in search of the waters' beginning, and on the doorstep of the source, you will be greeted by a committee of vultures; they will regard you as the evening sun floods your eyes, and ask without words--your admission to the inmost resting on your answer-- "how much dying are you willing to do in order to go on living?" they will allow you to go forward so long as you actually know · 07/2026
125 · i can see a lot of life in you / i can see a lot of bright in you · 07/2026
124 · there is no thing that cannot wash away · 07/2026
123 · no one is going to save you, nor will anyone stop you; it is, terrifyingly, exhilaratingly, up to you · 07/2026
122 · eventually the flatness folds in on itself · 07/2026
121 · thence we came forth to rebehold the stars · 07/2026
120 · clinging will never set you free · 07/2026
119 · the experience of growth has more in common with the seeming asphyxiation preceding the sob than it does the release of letting go into the weeping; by the time the tears fall, the most important part has already passed · 07/2026
118 · none of this will last forever, nor even for very long, and that is so, so okay. the aliveness of the moment is granted solely by its passing. there is no rescue from time, and you do not require one. you are already home; in fact, you never left · 06/2026
117 · in the late fifteenth century, an acorn sprouted in an old growth hardwood forest and grew into a healthy young oak in the coming years by luck, it continued to grow stronger and taller over decades, and then a century, and then another, and another, and another, and yet another more to reach the present, all the while standing staid as nearly all life around it was consumed and irreparably redirected by the colonial cataclysm. over the course of a life now better measured in fractions of a millennium, perhaps no period may be more perplexing from its sagely vantage than the dizzying exponentials unfurled in the industrial era. in the century approaching its half millennium of living, the air on its leaves rapidly grew thicker with carbon, the groundwater on its roots came to taste more and more of strange chemicals with time, the pollinator cycles wobbled and the once buzzing rhizomatic network went quiet, the sky was crisscrossed with cobwebs as machine sounds increasingly pervaded all registers of volume, and the night itself ceased to be fully dark. you and i may be younger than this tree, but we too know what it is like to live in a world knocked on its side by exponential curves going vertical. deep time wears on, but the agglomerating entity steering all life on earth sideways from its occasioning choreography has hijacked the present, holding us all hostage by conjoined dependence and disempowerment. it will go on, faster and faster and faster… until it can no longer. we ought prepare ourselves for the grief; it is later than we realize. · 05/2026
116 · there's a full moon rising, lets go dancing in the light · 05/2026
115 · wonderful and wise, this snapping turtle... she was already decades older than i am now at the time of my birth. i met her in the last leg of her yearly walk back to the swamp after she had dug her nest and laid her eggs in the hills last night. she more than anyone else in these woods knows what it was like in the before. before the light pollution. before the roar of the single prop planes. before the subdivision and the weedkiller in the water. she knows. · 05/2026
114 · in the distance, the floodlights of a logistics fulfillment center and a retail complex twinkle, and eighteen wheeler engines roar from the interstate out of view. but here, right here? here there are just leaves of grass whispering and crickets singing within them, fireflies above and bat shadows too, and preceding all of this, my heartbeat in my ears as this deer and i stare at one another under the crescent moon. a parallel universe reveals itself in the dark · 05/2026
113 · the flight of the instant · 05/2026
112 · it finds me in the dark · 05/2026
111 · bats spin and strafe as they gorge on the mass insect hatch emerging from the surface of this lake, sodium vapor streetlights bouncing off the clouds from far beyond the forest's edge · 05/2026
110 · untitled, bass guarding fry nursery · 05/2026
109 · the omens are not concerned with your willingness to see · 05/2026
108 · the mundane is a cataclysm of its own · 05/2026
107 · a young firefly, larval and flightless, learning how to glow · 05/2026
106 · at the end of everything there is but soft light · 04/2026
105 · dogwood blossoms · 04/2026
104 · earth day... i'm a nature abolitionist. bear with me--nature is conventionally real as a gesture, but the concept is incoherent from a materialist perspective. classifying nature as something separate, a thing to go to, implicitly justifies ecocide and extraction. there's nature deemed worth exempting from extraction, and nature gleefully eviscerated. what's the difference? if 'nature' is only what hits our scenic fetish registers enough to qualify as a national park, with topography unusual enough to please us, then what of the unnoticed ecology in the tall grass in the interstate median, the trillions of organisms living their entire lives between lanes? the natural park designation says--this, and just this, is worth exempting from universal eligibility for destruction. we should consider the life we don’t consider valuable, or extant. what of the bats sleeping in pockets beneath overpasses no one knows about because there's no interest to survey? or the rats under the brooklyn sidewalk? are they not making their lives unconventionally--just as we are? 'nature' ought to include the abjected—including us!—as is the subtext of the nature binary. our self-abjection is a tacit admission—we are dominators of nature, and disgusted by this fact and all evidence reminding us of it. but the PCB laden mollusks of newtown creek and the gowanus canal, the scavengers making their lives off any spare calorie amidst the city sprawl, are our kin. to understand the nature of 'nature', i ask--how natural is an anthill or termite mound? how natural is a subway system or skyscraper? like ants, we coordinate, using exoskeletons to pick up pieces of earth and put them elsewhere to build dwellings. sand and lime and water make concrete. what's different about a human in the operator's seat of a bulldozer cab, moving earth to make human homes, and an ant picking up dirt with its jaws to dig the hill? this earth day, remember your place in the family of all things, and your siblings—the cockroaches and bacteria in the septic tanks, for we are consubstantial with all life that finds its way. · 04/2026
103 · the land was scraped blank by mountains of ice ten thousand years long, and the world began anew. rivers fed by the meltwater found the level of the geography. subglacial currents met light, and thus ensued the holocene. what we know of the glaciers—what we know of anything at all—are the scraps and scars left behind · 04/2026
102 · between light and shadow, i am · 04/2026
101 · at the quarry at last light · 04/2026
100 · holocene scar tissue marbles my flesh; inscribed within me are maps of the world in its unbecoming; maps, and mazes; trails left behind by the pilgrimage of things for which there is no return · 04/2026
099 · the key turns but once · 04/2026
098 · sky burial · 03/2026
097 · untitled · 03/2026
096 · what was was not me—i am what remains · 03/2026
095 · i am no good nor evil, simply i am · 03/2026
094 · alive at any cost · 03/2026
093 · untitled · 03/2026
092 · there is no rescue, and you don't need one · 03/2026
091 · roses discarded, found on melting ice · 03/2026
090 · the cathedrals will crumble long before they are activated by melody again · 03/2026
089 · eventually, all things merge into one. the world is a swamp · 03/2026
088 · the thaw · 03/2026
087 · letting go is going free · 03/2026
086 · untitled · 03/2026
085 · all we are able to know is what it is not · 03/2026
084 · noësis · 03/2026
083 · we are but sightseers in this plane · 02/2026
082 · visitation in the stone cathedral · 02/2026
081 · the flashlight often winds up being a reason to remain afraid of the dark · 02/2026
080 · untitled · 02/2026
079 · darkness is the substrate for all illumination · 02/2026
078 · these are the closing notes of the before · 02/2026
077 · form is emptiness, emptiness is form · 02/2026
076 · death drive · 02/2026
075 · it goes and goes and goes and · 02/2026
074 · matrix multiplication is just birdsong in a different register · 01/2026
073 · untitled · 01/2026
072 · untitled · 01/2026
071 · it is later than you think · 12/2025
070 · getting crushed by it is a rite of passage · 12/2025
069 · spent shotgun shell discarded, but no bullet holes to be seen · 12/2025
068 · nowhen, nowhere · 11/2025
067 · i used to dread autumn but now i welcome the renewal · 11/2025
066 · stillborn future · 11/2025
065 · the only way out is through · 06/2025
064 · deep time moves with the instant · 06/2025
063 · untitled · 06/2025
062 · you road before me i know you are not all that is here · 06/2025
061 · judgment by the hounds · 05/2025
060 · untitled · 05/2025
059 · phosphene · 05/2025
058 · the post-human soma · 05/2025
057 · untitled · 05/2025
056 · untitled · 05/2025
055 · untitled, after lascaux · 05/2025
054 · here one moment and gone the next · 04/2025
053 · forest sigils · 04/2025
052 · from an empty sea, a flash of light · 12/2024
051 · entopsis · 12/2024
050 · the feeling of the thunder is the feeling of the silence just gone · 12/2024
049 · i am a strange loop · 11/2024
048 · i come from the ancient darkness of deep space to disintegrate into boundless celestial light on my approach… · 10/2024
047 · at heaven's door, an answer · 10/2024
046 · you have to want it · 10/2024
045 · half measures are of no use, you have to go all in · 10/2024
044 · fled is the night; do i wake, or sleep (fapa 2024 panoramic professional gold winner) · 10/2024
043 · above the streetlights, below the stars · 10/2024
042 · untitled · 10/2024
041 · untitled · 10/2024
040 · cablevision · 10/2024
039 · vault skyward in defiant transcendence · 06/2024
038 · untitled, compound aurora display · 05/2024
037 · kiss me, you're beautiful--these are truly the last days · 05/2024
036 · 11:11:44 pm · 05/2024
035 · being and nothingness · 04/2024
034 · visitation · 04/2024
033 · ensoulment · 04/2024
032 · that night, there were twice as many stars · 02/2024
031 · i try to remember the wrath of the devil was also given him by god · 01/2024
030 · jennifer, plate 3 · 12/2023
029 · jennifer, plate 2 · 12/2023
028 · jennifer, plate 1 · 12/2023
027 · i'm dragging a dead deer up a hill · 11/2023
026 · subterrane · 03/2023
025 · the future is a benevolent black hole · 03/2023
024 · liftoff · 01/2023
023 · over times square · 04/2022
022 · negative space · 03/2022
021 · rockeffeler's ziggurat · 01/2022
020 · suññatā · 12/2021
019 · nothing, everywhere · 12/2021
018 · fall back into everything · 09/2021
017 · untitled · 09/2021
016 · untitled · 09/2021
015 · the middle of the world · 08/2021
014 · grandma and grandpa at the balanced rock · 07/2021
013 · crescent sunrise and passenger jet · 06/2021
012 · looking into deep time · 05/2021
011 · cornfield cartwheels · 05/2021
010 · welcome to the desert of the real · 05/2021
009 · silicate whispers · 05/2021
008 · untitled · 10/2020
007 · the sun also rises · 07/2020
006 · the wound is where the light enters · 07/2020
005 · a visitor, a witness · 07/2020
004 · cosmic echo above the forest floor · 06/2020
003 · hold me close, don't hold your breath · 07/2019
002 · go to worship in the multifoliate cathedral · 11/2018
001 · first light · 12/2014