Category Archives: Writing

9 After sitting on the bench and looking at the bags and ducks, we went on our walk through the park. I remember the very pleasant afternoon; the trees were crispy, the sky behind them gleamed chilliest blue, the earth was damp and packed in smooth in the woods, runny and puddled in by theContinue reading “I Wish in October (9)”

8 I did not take control of the season. I did not pursue a thing; I waited for it to happen. When the thing didn’t happen, I would continue waiting. I would become quite tired. There was a lot of waiting, and a lot of being tired. Somewhere between the American Halloween and the lateContinue reading “I Wish in October (8)”

7 I remember being ten and describing to a friend an atmosphere, an aesthetic: ‘It’s like sort of punk Halloween, you know.’ He didn’t know. Nobody did or does. A very specific thing I was trying to speak about: a bedroom, a little like my own, decorated, black window, a harsh white skull on aContinue reading “I Wish in October (7)”

6 I was in my late twenties. I remember the park that I worked near, which was not the same park as the pondless plastic bag park, was very beautiful in the October time of year and at any time. I remember sitting in the park and reading as much as I could of TheContinue reading “I Wish in October (6)”

5 There was a Halloween I spent in America. The suburbs were as they had been dreamed into me by projectors and screens. I do not believe I saw a single yard fronting a porched house that did not have a gossamer draped plastic skeleton hanging off of a skeleton draped tombstone, or a child’sContinue reading “I Wish in October (5)”