We built the fastest world that has ever existed. A short essay on phones, waiting, and what gets lost when the waiting disappears.

I was fifteen the first time I watched The Matrix. A short essay on choosing, noticing, and what the movie left out about waking up.

The cursor blinks, then hours disappear. A short essay on flow, Michelangelo's sore neck, and why you can't actually pose in front of the feeling.

For a long stretch of my life, my whole world was the ceiling of my bedroom. A short essay on breaking, mending with gold, and the difference between healing that hides the crack and healing that shows it.

I was seventeen the day before. A short, plain account of the morning my father was shot, and the morning after, when I opened the store because someone had to.