My mother Archives - Page 4 of 4

On deadness, and sirens

There’s something dead inside of me. Also, sirens.

There’s something about curls. When I had hair, I had them, in droves. A big, long Jew-fro of a mane.[…]

“You really are difficult,” Sofia wrote to me. She’s right, of course. We were talking about how I respond to[…]

The other day, I wrote about some of my self-destructive impulses, about how, when lonely, I sometimes act (and often[…]

A loyal reader asked me recently about loneliness, and I tossed off a quick response: “… in general, I don’t[…]

I used to imagine that there was a simple explanation. To anything. To everything. I imagined, for example, that there[…]

Sometimes, events in one’s life have a heft, a magnitude, an awesomeness, such that it simply feels inconceivable that life[…]

I have written a bit, and will write more, about my experiences in the land of paid sex. In this[…]