Poetry and the night are some of the last remaining domains of “unknowing”; places where it’s acceptable to digest the world slowly and without conclusion, and where one can linger in, and traverse, experiences like solitude, impermanence, and...
What makes a place home? Is it a place that feels like a refuge? Is it somewhere you sleep really, really well? What if the place that feels like home is a secret apartment in the bowels of a giant mall?
This crazy thing happens in NYC as night approaches – as rush hour picks up and the streets get evermore hectic than normal, delivery men on bikes start racing through the streets to get people their restaurant food while it’s still hot.
The shift into the darkness of night triggers our bodies to relax. Perhaps this is why so many babies begin their journey into the world at night. That adds a whole new dimension when they're born at home. Read more →
Traveling at night as a passenger is an act of trust. As the sensations of movement lull you to the edge of sleep or beyond, you surrender to dislocation; disconnecting from place and time. The only constant is motion.