dear future october reader,
it’s me – in this october. 2020. i’m sitting on my couch in brooklyn. i just took a test for an online class. maya went apple picking. tomorrow i’ll ride my bike far – maybe 70 miles. it may rain.
long bike rides give me time and space to think. it’s a sorting activity.
I think about about i’ll write when dylan dies. i’ll have to write something. it’s certain. i think about crispr. about maps carving out identities. i think about the weather and the sky and the great particles of mist that float past the rockaways out to the sea, hoping they glide peacefully by the airport. i think about which version of kyoto is better—how the song is like a poem, full of a few short stories. how stories, the good ones anyway, proffer feelings. it makes me think of a jack gilbert poem and the many times i adjusted my hold on some box not knowing that it could be something else entirely.
i’ve thought about writing so much.. on here, on scraps of paper. i’ve thought about essays on politics, the election is so close and the closer we get the more myopic it all becomes — all about it. science journals are choosing a candidate. voices warn you of gloom constantly. but they are not wrong. we need certain voices elevated that don’t have a voice necessarily. take science. we need it for our species, for the earth, for the future generations who will look upon our regression as incalculably baffling.
i think i should write more letters. there are more months aside from october which gets this one. ill find a project and write for it. in between, i live and read the news, and watch shows with maya, and observe what i can about our time (these months) while so badly wishing we could get to a point of embracing one another again.
– me, in october