Headless World by Ascher/Straus
There is in fact a profusion of heads in Headless World. One might even note that there seems nothing but, although most heads seem about to be, or are in the midst of being, severed from the necks they belonged to, the condition to which the title likely alludes.
The Pallbearer
I was guarding my son one on one when I made the mistake of reaching just as he was about to make his move. The ball bounced hard off the blacktop, and as it accelerated, for a ball deflected travels with greater velocity than one merely tossed through the air, it smashed into my right eye.
Fat, Sugar, and Salt
I waited under the giant head of Charlie Parker, addict and practitioner of a dense and self-reflective midwestern modernism.
Carnival of Souls
Between Fallon and Austin, someone had carved the entire preamble of the United States Constitution into the embankment.
Above the Fog
Rode out to the bayshore at sunrise, snowy egrets skimming the water's surface and a solar halo above the fog.
Skyscraper of Broad Daylight
If I’m to avoid succumbing to jet lag, I should get out of the hotel room and move around. Having gotten up at three a.m. and finished, more or less, with my work for the day, I decide to take the afternoon off. So far, I’ve spent my drowsy evenings in an uncommonly relaxed Tokyo (it being Golden Week) shopping for eyeglasses for my wife, in Shinjuku, and pajamas for my kids, in Ginza. Today, though, I have for myself. It’s a straight shot on the Tozai Line from Iidabashi to Nakano and gets there in 22 minutes, so why not?
Tokyo Interlude
Now for an oddly timed Tokyo interlude. So far, guy taking phone pics of weeds growing out of the sidewalk; mousy girl in glasses confidently rocking sweatshirt emblazoned with "I AM BABE"; oroshi soba with draft beer; crowds strolling by on a soft spring day in Kagurazaka.
Old Cypress
In front of Kong Ming’s shrine, there’s an old cypress,
With branches like bronze, roots like stone,
On Errands of Life
I found myself reading two novels, both in their way about foreign writers who are lost in America, a Frenchwoman in Nathalie Léger's Suite for Barbara Loden and an Argentinean in Ricardo Piglia's The Way Out.
Building a Nest
A pair of young scrub jays are building a nest in the blue potato bush, which had been pruned last winter, but has now already grown back, with purple flowers in bloom.
The Hawk and the Crow
This morning, as the sun rises, such that anything its slanted rays touch seems made of solid light, a red-tailed hawk is perched on a playground basketball court backboard.