After decades of sensible moderation, I packed it in and began drinking in earnest.

He drove past the old house on the way to the liquor store. The familiar bay window above the porch, where she used to sit waiting when he came home. Halfway down the block he had to pull over. He couldn’t go forward, and he couldn’t go back.

Beneath the excitement of travel was a core of sadness, knowing this would become the memory of a place he’d seen for the last time.

Far too finely wrought to be good.

At closing time we patched our wounds, finished our drinks and headed into the summer night.

I have a particularly ugly shirt reserved for days when I feel particularly ugly.

Be the sound, not the hearing
The breath, not the breathing
The wind…
Did that work for you?
For a while.

In the dream he caught the eye of someone who seemed familiar, a trusted friend of long ago or a forgotten family member, only to realize with a shock that it was a younger, kinder version of himself—a version he’d forgotten had ever existed. Describing it to them, he suddenly burst into tears. He said that three days after the dream his depression had lifted. The dream seemed rather obvious, he said, but the mind likes obvious. Obvious works.

We’re making the world up as we go along.

After 25 good years, the bill has come due.

Do gorillas throw shit in the wild?

I don’t think I’ll ever forget her bewildered expression as they drove her away.

Received a lovely message from T. yesterday. “Dear Michael, thank you for this thoughtful note. I admire your work, and it’s nice to hear from you.” Had to wonder, though, who is Michael?

All music will eventually be drumming.

Your hearing starts to go, and then your vision—preparation for leaving this world.