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Sunbeams

We do not have too much intellect and too little soul, but too little precision in matters of the soul.

Robert Musil

Everybody’s Lie

The only thing more complete than this moment will be the loss of it, as memory repudiates everything. But why complain, when even the complaint will be forgotten?

Bodies

I fell in love and then I went shopping for groceries. We were out of everything. There was milk and cold cereal. Bread. Boring.

Sonderkommando

“The Holocaust is boring, honey. I lost it with that last Louis Malle film. It’s as old as platform shoes. They trivialize it.” Carla isn’t Jewish. “You oppress yourself, honey.” I nodded.

It Is Summer And I Paint My Toenails Magenta

It is summer. I sit on the balcony and paint my toenails magenta. Last year, I painted them cerise, Peter’s favorite color. The year before, my toes bloomed baby pink in honor of Angela, my daughter.

Luchita And The Radio Man

A Searing, True-Life Tale of Broadcasting, Love, and Deception

The two of us are on a fact-finding expedition to Philo, California. At first, Luchita hadn’t wanted to come; she knew I was researching a magazine article, and she’s still a little peeved at certain references I made to her in a profile of Lola Falana I wrote some months back. But she knows I like her company, and that this article is important.

Mistaken Identity

I want to love myself the way a stubborn question loves certainty, loves it in spite of itself.

Sunday Morning

The Rehearsal

Her lips, loose and larger without dentures, move up and down in a pace that suggests more words are coming, but then, they stop. She has, I think, forgotten what she wanted to say. I don’t know what to do in these silent spaces between now and never again.

Even Hitler