When you flip bats upside down they become exceptionally sassy dancers.
Let’s just pick a direction and start driving.
The observatory made of wood and mahogany pipes. Outer Calumet. The two of us, plus Pince, through Illinois farms, the dark and flat, moon dipping like a saffron nail down horizon. The horizon pock-marked with small city light pollution. The observatory made of mahogany pipes and wood, up to its deck. Its dripping gutters. Its lone bench. A picnic area shaped like satellite dish. We lay in the center and looked up for a long, long time. Celestial clouds. Meteors. Three of them. Growing star field as our eyes adjust to light.
oh my the face of god
You think about space the same way I think about people. There were people around us all that time, but they went unnoticed, as stars usually do. When we waved goodbye to the deck, to observatory, to the field, a fourth meteor streaked up.
oh my god
It’s my birth date (in my birth place). I’m another age. Whoa! It’s like I’m growing up or something, just like every other day of this strange life.
Mattresses are really wonderful. I don’t want to move out of this one, man.
I recently, finally took a beat and turned my head around to look the past few months of anxiety square between the eyes. It didn’t get the best of me. I’ve grown tremendously, even while persistently worried about nonsense. Allowed myself to be loved. Allowed myself to be in the kinds of spaces where I have to be simultaneously vulnerable and strong. Allowed myself to put things off and take myself out for beef noodle soup and aimless browsing in Chinatown on queasier afternoons.
The paperwork and airfare is all set. I’ll be in China this summer, helping Pritzker with their medical education reform program, research mostly. Interviewing students, physicians, and faculty members on the cultural appropriateness of transplanting Pritzker’s ethics and professionalism curriculum into a Chinese medical school—but also working on my own oral narratives project with senior physicians and healthcare workers on the history of healthcare in China—the emotional impact of the past century’s tumultuous changes, the future of healthcare, the humanity of treatment as we move into a hopefully more socially conscious future in China. I feel utterly underqualified for this. But everyone else seems to trust me, so here we go.
And after this, I don’t know. I’ll be running a slam. Living with four other wonderful girls. Getting into memory politics, perhaps the politics of grief. Perhaps starting an oral history project in Hyde Park. E-mailing my sister more often. Oaxaca. Who knows. I do worry. The future still bothers me, quietly, usually in my sleep. But I’m at peace with it, truly, honestly, for the first time in my life. And wherever it goes, I can finally assure myself that it’ll be fine. And maybe S. can come along with me too; the two of us writing a prettier world together.
4,320 meters above sea level in the mountains of Chile, the El Tatio geyser has been spewing scalding hot steam for thousands of years.
Photographer Owen Perry traveled to the remote region and captured some incredible photos of the geyser right before sunrise.
A boy from Brooklyn used to cruise on summer nights.
As soon as he’d hit sixty he’d hold his hand out the window,
cupping it around the wind. He’d been assured
this is exactly how a woman’s breast feels when you put
your hand around it and apply a little pressure. Now he knew,
and he loved it. Night after night, again and again, until
the weather grew cold and he had to roll the window up.
For many years afterwards he was perpetually attempting
to soar. One winter’s night, holding his wife’s breast
in his hand, he closed his eyes and wanted to weep.
He loved her, but it was the wind he imagined now.
As he grew older, he loved the word etcetera and refused
to abbreviate it. He loved sweet white butter. He often
pretended to be playing the organ. On one of his last mornings,
he noticed the shape of his face molded in the pillow.
He shook it out, but the next morning it reappeared.