An essay about falling in love with the early ’80s punk and music scene in Los Angeles—where the writer moved through the subculture and a stage of life.
An essay about falling in love with the early ’80s punk and music scene in Los Angeles—where the writer moved through the subculture and a stage of life.
A writer explores his time in eastern Kazakhstan—meeting place of Russia and Central Asia—where Dostoevsky once served in the Czar’s army, wrote several early works, and left a legacy still felt today.
A lyric essay on the writer’s relationship to this most-maligned pest—from the sweltering Winnipeg summers of her childhood to amber beads prized by her Ukrainian immigrant parents.
“Rooted since March 2020 in Lincolnshire, my oft-neglected, staunchly rural, and relentlessly flat home county…I’ve spent much of my time thinking about both physical and imaginary spaces…”
“I felt like I was waking from a long dream that was both fantastic and scary, unsure of where I had been but convinced that I had crossed a border during the night.”
“I surely was not a war story kind of person, I believed; nor was I on board with the classic Viking ethos of pillage now, apologize never. But then I opened to the first page of Njal’s Saga—and slid effortlessly into the social scene of southern Iceland a thousand years earlier.”
The flood of writing began almost immediately, and I don’t know if I’ll ever understand why. Was it the quality of the light that makes Oaxaca famous as the arts capital of Mexico, pulling artists from across the Americas to call it home?