A critique and defense of Bret Easton Ellis’ first book of nonfiction.
Peak tulips, whistling trains, jumping bunnies and shattered glass.
He's also dying.
Lavie Tidhar’s Unholy Land is an example of creativity that justifies itself.
“Clients” at NYC cemeteries.
Spring trek through forgotten New York.
Wiping away royalty.
As you're already well aware.
Being seen, affirmed, and welcomed is more intoxicating than alcohol.
The news was shocking, but then again it wasn’t. Kevin hinted about his plans for years.
Walking in downtown Brooklyn.
Losers have thoughts like this, I think.
Paleocon Diary (#168).
Casey Gerald’s memoir is infinitely more valuable than a book about the secrets of Wall Street.
The Montaigne Project 3: on idleness.
So what if my cousin smoked in Notre Dame? Everyone smokes in Paris.
Transgender Manning, transparent Assange, transhuman Easter.
White man’s diary.
Bad blood is bubbling.
Don’t be too sure about a future predicted by others.
How could a horse talk?
Writing and recording poems every week for a newborn daughter.
Dad was a humble giant, at least to his five sons.
I’m an old cowhand.
As a teenager, I was a walking zit.
The brilliant Absolut Vodka advertising hustle of the late-1980s.
I don’t scream for ice cream.
American social polarization is exaggerated.
Ninety-Nine percent of baseball fans don’t care if a free agent inks deal for $100 or $140 million.
Black eyes are going around like the flu.