Books Read in 2017 (45)

1.Anna Karenina – Leo Tolstoy
2.The Intern’s Handbook – Shane Kuhn
3.Franny and Zooey – J.D. Salinger
4.Harry Potter and the Cursed Child – J.K. Rowling, John Tiffany & Jack Thorne
5.The Bachelor Brother’s Bedside Companion – Bill Richardson
6.Perfume – Patrick Süskind
7.Ariel – Sylvia Plath
8.No Country For Old Men – Cormac McCarthy
9.Death of a Salesman – Arthur Miller
10.All The Light We Cannot See – Anthony Doerr
11.Talking About Detective Fiction – P.D. James
12.Ablutions – Patrick deWitt
13.The Suspicions of Mr. Whicher – Kate Summerscale
14.Among the Ruins – Ausma Zehanat Khan
15.We Are What We Pretend To Be – Kurt Vonnegut
16.2001: A Space Odyssey – Arthur C. Clarke
17.Born A Crime – Trevor Noah
18.Northanger Abbey – Jane Austen
19.First Among Sequels – Jasper Fforde
20.Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? – Philip K Dick
21.Flappers: Six Women of a Dangerous Generation – Judith Mackrell
22. One Of Our Thursdays Is Missing – Jasper Fforde
23.A Few Figs From Thistles – Edna St. Vincent Millay
24.The Martian Chronicles – Ray Bradbury
25.One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest – Ken Kesey
26.I, Robot – Isaac Asimov
27.The Fellowship of the Ring – J. R. R. Tolkien
28.Animal Farm – George Orwell
29.The Two Towers – J. R. R. Tolkien
30.Return of the King – J. R. R. Tolkien
31.Difficult Women – Roxane Gay
32.The House at Riverton – Kate Morton
33.Hunger – Roxane Gay
34.Slow War – Benjamin Hertwig
35.Something Wicked This Way Comes – Ray Bradbury
36.Moving Forward Sideways Like A Crab – Shani Mootoo
37.Bad Feminist – Roxane Gay
38.Reconstructing Amelia – Kimberly McCreight
39.Altered Carbon – Richard Morgan
40.Y is For Yesterday – Sue Grafton
41.Americanah – Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
42.Lady Susan and Other Works – Jane Austen
43.This Side of Paradise – F. Scott Fitzgerald
44.4,3,2,1 – Paul Aster
45.The Tea Girl of Hummingbird Lane – Lisa See


Sea Fog/See Fog

I love the way the fog unfolds itself over the city; a virtually opaque phantom, cool, damp and persistent on my lips and skin.

The fog is a delight for me, pulling a curtain across known entities and making me wonder how much we actually remember and retain about the world around us once our senses have been deprived. Can anyone really say that the world still exists beyond the fog?

I visited Jericho Beach for the first time on a Saturday morning of thick, satiny fog. I stood in my sneakers and rain jacket on the piles of driftwood and sand as the ocean and mountains in front of me were slowly revealed. First was the edge of the water with its gentle lapping waves, protruding from the fog in a tumble and then rolling back in under cover. This was followed by the dock extending clearly at first and disappearing into grey the further out it went- I could barely make out the small, solitary house perched precariously at the end of the wooden planks. Visibly the fog continued retreating until I could see a few of the boats anchored and bobbing between the waves a short distance from myself and the shore. The morning light cut jagged shards along the clear water as the fog rose up in a wall, unlike anything I had seen before. It stood in front of the mountains like a sheet a child has hung on the wall for a film projector. As the peaks began to climb higher than the fog, the thick cotton cloud began moving back toward the shore, eventually devouring the boats and the dock that had only been visible to me for a short time, and permeating the area around me until it seemed as if I was alone, save for the fog horns in the distance and the footsteps through the sand of fellow morning fog enthusiasts.

As I drove home across the bridge, the entire world was wiped out. Nothing else existed but the car I was in and the parts of the bridge that were directly in front of my headlights. I felt perfectly at peace.

What does it say about me that I love this natural phenomenon so much? That I find comfort in a form of low-lying condensation that hides me completely from everyone else and erases (for a time) the world in the way that I knew it? This may seem a little bleak but I think that the sea fog settling over my little island city is the most beautiful, wonderful thing.


War of the Words

Sticks and stones
may break your bones
but words can massacre you.

Pulled from a quiver
like arrows they deliver
a perfect execution.

Then the infection to fear
that can last up to years
sometimes you never heal.

So if I am threatened
with words or with weapons
I’ll chance it against the stones.


Help Eachother

I was once a beautiful statue
standing in a square
and people would come
from all over the world and
offer me their broken hearts.

I would take a little handful of
the cool clay that made my being
and I would fill in the cracks
to make those embattled hearts
stronger then ever.

More and more people made a
pilgrimage to see me and soon
I had to take plaster from my
arms and legs and body until
there was no material left for me.

It seemed that everybody knew
where to find me when they
needed a little extra help but
when they were fixed they forgot
to return and repay the kindness.

Please remember that those
who allow you to lean on them
sometimes need help too
but they will keep on giving clay
until it runs out.

Do not let them become
an empty platform in a square
where a beautiful statue
used to reside.


We Should Not Be Comfortable

One day the sun stopped
shining in the sky.

Every major city burned
pyres of wood so they could see.

When the logs ran out
they used dreams instead.

The dreams lit up like horrible
beautifully efficient infernos.

We were so fucking hollow
once our dreams became ash.

We were paper thin but we told
ourselves that at least we were warm.

We sacrificed our ideals and dreams
lest we might become uncomfortable.