Essay by John Jacobson
Love, joy, loss, and grief are all flowers on the same vine.
Love, joy, loss, and grief are all flowers on the same vine.
A conversation about Fay's "Pathological" memoir and mental-health misdiagnoses (yes, plural).
Touching, letting go, returning to touch: we love with the persistence of flies!
Others might get sick, be hospitalized, or even die, but no one we know will really be affected by it.
To make something from the desires both to hold and to be held.
I wonder about the half-advertent suicides. About a person who writes about a wing in the sky.
I know we don't sound like you.
We, as humans, need to be around others who have felt what we’re feeling.
The words I find most comforting during the pandemic are words of unity.
The feeling of being protected, of being immune, and of being separate vanished.