https://anomie.space anomie Fri, 06 May 2022 02:00:17 +0000 https://anomie.space en https://anomie.space/home Mon, 24 Jun 2019 17:45:22 +0000 anomie https://anomie.space/home anomie.spacean aspirational &amp; desperational place https://anomie.space/good-things-x Fri, 06 May 2022 02:00:17 +0000 anomie https://anomie.space/good-things-x 2022.05.05 good things x a small thing to remember oh right spring exists https://anomie.space/good-things-ix Fri, 06 May 2022 01:58:14 +0000 anomie https://anomie.space/good-things-ix 2021.05.05 good things ix a small thing to remember moody arpeggios during a january where i couldn’t walk https://anomie.space/good-things-viii Fri, 06 May 2022 01:56:24 +0000 anomie https://anomie.space/good-things-viii 2022.05.05 good things viii a small thing to remember the last gasps of autumn 2021 https://anomie.space/quarantine-sound-diary-iv Wed, 21 Apr 2021 03:42:38 +0000 anomie https://anomie.space/quarantine-sound-diary-iv 2020.04.20 ever receeding and ever returninghere for a moment karst · 04 20 21 https://anomie.space/good-things-vii Sat, 17 Apr 2021 18:08:39 +0000 anomie https://anomie.space/good-things-vii 2021.04.17 good things vii a small thing to remember https://anomie.space/letter-home-viii Fri, 09 Apr 2021 04:01:02 +0000 anomie https://anomie.space/letter-home-viii 2021.04.01 letter home viii hello friends, it’s April and a cold front has swept into New Orleans, displacing for a brief moment the march towards a sweltering summer. the ancient oaks have begun to hang heavy with the spring growth and we have planted a small garden, jasmine and hollyhock and catnip. the garden is an flag on verdant moon, planted and left in memoriam, for we do not expect to be here to see more than the first burst of neon green growth.a horizon of normalcy or something new is visible, and we are carried towards it on an mRNA steed. the storm of unreality that was coronavirus now feels ready to break. that inflicted, claustrophobic slowness now threatens to accelerate, throwing us into the future at speed we now feel unaccustomed to. Manon and I have lived in many cities over the last 30 months (Oakland, Los Angeles, Turin, Budapest, New Orleans) and we now face the task of finding where next we will call home. until recently a plan existed, one certainty we clung to, a torch against the dark. that torch has flickered and gone out, and so we are flung, unmoored in spacetime, towards something entirely new. which is all to say that things are good. we are halfway vaccinated and relish the concept of tossing even the tiniest fraction of caution to the wind in our New Orleans life that has been free of revelry, street car rides, and the ability to become comfortably anonymous in a crowd. our living space is ever more filled with objects of clay and wood, a sign of our continuous efforts to find some small stillness in making. Manon continues on her journey of baking for the finest pie shop in the city (this is not hyperbole), and I continue to resist the temptation to eat nothing but chicken pot pie forever. it’s true, we do face some coming changes. either driven out of town by the unbelievable heat of summer or driven on by our need to see what’s next, we expect to be living somewhere new come autumn. we hope that our journey out of the swamp brings us closer to all of you and that we may, finally, embrace and be together, if only for a moment. I cannot conceive of something I want more. with love, sam https://anomie.space/good-things-vi Fri, 05 Feb 2021 04:11:28 +0000 anomie https://anomie.space/good-things-vi 2021.02.04 good things vi a small thing to remember https://anomie.space/the-irrecoverable-colors-of-the-sky Tue, 11 Aug 2020 19:57:22 +0000 anomie https://anomie.space/the-irrecoverable-colors-of-the-sky 2020.08.10 <img width="4024" height="6048" width_o="4024" height_o="6048" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/4893a91bace70667a8c1130392517edf0111f3fce6c7241d2507ac91b30013fc/DSC_2473.jpg" data-mid="79653831" border="0" data-scale="50" data-no-zoom data-draggable alt="the irrecoverable colors of the sky" data-caption="the irrecoverable colors of the sky" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/4893a91bace70667a8c1130392517edf0111f3fce6c7241d2507ac91b30013fc/DSC_2473.jpg" /> the irrecoverable colors of the sky https://anomie.space/sick-today Wed, 05 Aug 2020 01:31:14 +0000 anomie https://anomie.space/sick-today 2020.08.01 I was sick today...I think. If it is anything, it is a decidedly unpronounced sickness. I awoke different, listless, but could point to no real symptoms beside a light cough when Manon asked to describe what was happening. The most honest description I could conjur was that I could feel a faint rattling behind my eyes, a description I kept to myself because it seemed strange enough that uttering it aloud would maybe be construed as a whole other type of cause for concern. Feeling sick at all is complicated right now, something that easily gains steam towards an overwhelming sense of dread. It could be nothing, a bit of dehydration and heat exhaustion from a day-old bike ride through the unshaded concrete of New Orleans’ downtown. It could also be the thing, something I’m not even scared of for me, but because if I have the thing, then those who I live with and love will also have it. This dread, a dread of confronting the mortality of others, is one that has been omnipresent since February of this year, but that omnipresence has rendered it almost inert, something too large to stare directly at. It is a deep ocean of uncertainty with waves that sweep by and all you can do is let each lift you, suspended, simply trying to keep your head above it until it rolls onward, with the promise of more to come. To have that world of fear squeezed into this small, sunlit apartment, is more than I can bear. So I find myself yet again, staring slightly to the left of it, allowing it to fill my periphery, for the utter lack of any better idea.