I remember when I was younger there was a sort of general consensus around the idea that New Yorkers* were among the most self-obsessed, narcissistic assholes on the planet, especially artist and academic types†. And, I don’t know, maybe that was true. Things have changed though. Through the power of technology (smart phones, social media,… Continue reading
Day nine of Inktober. A lighthouse perched along a rocky shore. Its slow, sweeping beam of light reminded her of the lonely sound of a freight train late at night, a sound that always made her feel wistful and longing for both home and elsewhere simultaneously.
An anchor lay rusting among the rocks and ferns. The story continues, but releases very few of its secrets. I originally saw this near the saltbox house somewhere; maybe round back or on the far side of the porch. Maybe at the end of the narrow dirt and gravel driveway approaching from the main road.… Continue reading An anchor lay rusting among rocks and ferns
e daggar art: THE MUSEUM 