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secret windows (don't look back)

I found myself in a conversation with an old friend, about the crossroads of writing, nostalgia and memory. "Distance and perspective are the upside." I said. "The slippery slope is romanticizing and being nostalgic. Well, that's the memory trap no matter who you are."
"It's funny... I spent most of my life thinking that I had a rather dull adolescence, and it's only recently that I've discovered that these stories are a lot more interesting than I gave them credit." My friend replied. I admitted that I gravitate towards stories that are based on a mistake, a lie - thinking you had some great childhood, when actually it was a shitshow, and you fantasized about being adopted but sort of blocked that out.  


The question wobbled around inside my head for a few days. Was I too fast to judge nostalgia, to quick to brush aside its sweetness, stepping over it towards something invariably darker and sadder?  On Sunday, I was walking on Kutuzovsky,…

make you feel my love

Moscow in winter

work sets you free

coney island baby (licorice and Hershey bars)

Brooklyn Bridge (eggs and sausage)

an early Sunday morning

white riot

after the shoot

the ocean

combat boots and red socks

not even a whisper

the playground

orphans and old bones

that good tired

Their dogs must be barking

the road to the parade

not yet

Ouroboros

late summer

faces (a flood)

the reward for silence (a different person)

a series of surprises

the ocean waits

miniatures (a storm)

the hardest thing

the faucet (drawing a line in the sand is not as easy as I thought it would be)

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best personal blogs