Por cinco meses: nada. Y hoy: la posibilidad de rescate.

A pretty young stranger at the next table pauses my exit with a question: "Were you Frida at the halloween party?" A city of 20...

What She Knew People did not know what she knew, that she was not really a woman but a man, often a fat man, but more often, probably, ...

Let us not self-destruct with longing and ennui. Let us not light the match of guilt and despair. Let us instead play records, turn on the ...

" Oh baby baby. Stay young with me forever. We'll pass the time sitting on porches, sipping whiskey lemonades and listening to lon...

What is whimsy? How does it differ from romanticism, escapism, indulgence? Can it hold its own against duty? Does it impair or enrich consc...

Set up a bank account. Hallucinated sufi music. Tried on 347 sari blouses. Eaten 4 types of paranthas. Listened to an Israeli qawwal . Spent...

Imposter lilacs, hanging off the trees: I can smell your trickery.

The troops have found no battle, and so are picking daises in the field. Over and out.

Went to the woods and found you wandrin'; emerged, and found myself--afield.

So you aren't lithe, French, Mexican, an artiste, long-limbed, the dancing lover-muse of Degas, Gauguin, Matisse or Pissarro;...