the abduction

On this night, the final night of 2022, I was abducted by aliens on the 600 block of South Street, only doors down from Olympia II Pizza (assumed sequel to the very, very successful Olympia I). Although I look worried, I was really more surprised— I had just enjoyed a very lovely night, eating soup dumplings in Chinatown and walking home in the rain with my girlfriend. As I beamed up towards the spaceship, it occurred to me just how many dumplings I had eaten, and it struck me that I was sort of a human soup dumpling myself. I couldn’t help but wonder whether this made me more appealing to the extraterrestrials.

still no Leica

I drove down to Hope alone one day to hike real high up a mountain and a guy saw my camera and offered to take my photo. He had a camera himself, a Leica actually, and I had a strange thought, what if he gives me his camera? To keep…

He didn’t—instead he took my photo, with my camera (not the Leica) so here’s me, without a Leica (but still hoping he’d give me the Leica).

city lights

The buildings in cities make us feel small, but the stars would make the buildings shrink to nearly nothing. If only we could see them.

looking out

From Ross Gay’s Book of Delights

_______________

I suppose I could spend time theorizing how it is that people are not bad to each other, but that's really not the point. The point is that in almost every instance of our lives, our social lives, we are, if we pay attention, in the midst of an almost constant, if subtle, caretaking.

Holding open doors. Offering elbows at crosswalks.

Letting someone else go first. Helping with the heavy bags. Reaching what's too high, or what's been dropped.

Pulling someone back to their feet. Stopping at the car wreck, at the struck dog. The alternating merge, also known as the zipper. This caretaking is our default mode and it's always a lie that convinces us to act or believe otherwise. Always.

(Mar. 2)