hello, friends. it’s been a minute, hasn’t it? i’ve just spent the last three weeks on the west coast with family and friends, doing the hard work of s…
i don’t know what to say except that the only thing which has given me even a lick of comfort in this devastating week of fascist convulsion is the kno…
two hundred and thirty-three. perhaps grief was nothing but disbelief. the first snow fell and melted. and the second snow. after that, there was no re…
happy canadian thanksgiving! i celebrated by fishing a half-price, shrink-wrapped pumpkin pie out of the cooler at shoppers drug mart yesterday. the ce…
a short one today. two hundred and twenty-six. can i love non-possessively, permissively -- without withdrawing myself, setting up my own defenses and …
wow, it’s really been a month since i sent out a fresh batch of field notes, huh? apologies. see, i’ve been navigating a personal crisis, and at the be…
hey guys. this week’s edition is 50% patrick melrose, 100% plunging into the annals of grief and loneliness. yay! tw: one mention of csa/rape in this e…
this week’s field notes are going to look a little different, because the only field notes i recorded were a couple lines of dialogue from mad men, and…
one hundred and eighty-three. i miss you like a home. -- allen ginsberg, letter to peter orlovsky, 1958 yes, allen ginsberg was a tool; yes, this line …
i’ve recently started a work-from-home writing gig which requires me to hand in a project every monday, which means tuesdays are now my recover-from-al…
greetings, friends. i flew to san francisco on monday and i am flying back to toronto tomorrow, and that is why the field notes are a little late. i wa…
sorry we’re a day late this week, folks. one hundred and fifty-two. i have walked through many lives, some of them my own, and i am not who i was, thou…