Archive | Church Matters

The Church of American Ashes

We’re at the point where the American dystopia is so real and so raw that it’s as if this country’s core uglinesss is erupting inside my guts–which of course it is, me being the literal Crapicorn that I am.

Really, it is living inside all of us.

White supremacy is and always has been terrorism. Not recognizing this means you have blinded yourself because it suits you. Because you think your part is greater than the whole. And because—g-d help us—it is the American way. Continue Reading →

The Church of Thoreau

All day I’ve been writing about Henry David Thoreau, whose 200th birthday would have been July 12th. I am shocked by how much I have to say about him and the other Transcendentalists. It’s as if, growing up within miles of Walden Pond, I picked up their combination of puritanism and unadorned joy through sheer osmosis. “Something in the water,” indeed. But more than that, Thoreau’s less-is-more” self-reliance and environmental philosophy is so, so precious in this moment in which we’re being held hostage by more-is-more maniacs.

Love and Light, Love and Night

I can’t decide if I’m up early or late but it is 4:15 am and the moon is singing too loud a siren song for me to sleep. This is the view from my kitchen window–poetry and manmade nature, the ultimate New York story if you add in childhood rage. I’m reading Lidia Yuknavitch’s The Chronology Of Water, which may have something to do with all this awakery. I don’t even like the memoir but I love it. It summons my latent misogyny–everyone harbors latent misogyny; resentment of the womb’s great power comes hand in hand with the trauma of being ejected from it–and it rouses my literary and erotic ambitions. I can’t resist a book that feels like it’s been (meta)blogged by the thirstiest of pussies, even as I roll my eyes and clear my throat and rearrange my crotch. So here I sit, parked by my window, reading and watching and sniffing the still-sweet air, thinking of sex, thinking of jealousy, thinking of how to mount this whole freaking city. I light a candle honoring the Santería spirit Changó–he’s very much on my brain, no coincidence there–and pray that this thunder and lightening god will help me channel my own big weather when the sun rises again.

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy