I have several new essays up at The Samizdat for all of you to check out.
Here you can read about the laundromat, an old woman, and a murderous priest.
Here’s one about the grand spaces and minor kingdoms of my tenth year.
And the newest is about a girl I once knew, and don’t anymore.
Today at The Samizdat I’m sharing some reflections on Sarah Polley’s amazing documentary Stories We Tell. Come on over and check it out.
Today at The Samizdat I’m reviewing Jim Jarmusch’s vampire film Only Lovers Left Alive. Come on over and check it out. If you’ve seen it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!
Today at The Samizdat I’m sharing my ten favorite films of the 1960s in response to a recent poll at movie mezzanine. Come on over and disagree with me!
“For two and a half decades I brushed aside the mountain of evidence and scientific consensus surrounding evolution and a very old universe as just so much atheist deception. It’s honestly embarrassing to admit how recent that was, but if you didn’t grow up in fundamentalist Christianity, or in any other fundamentalist religious tradition, it’s impossible to explain to you how powerful are the pressures of belief, how convincing the explanations provided when your eternal soul depends upon them. I am not as far removed as I’d like to be from a time when I believed in a young earth, when sinners washed in the blood of the lamb or burned in his wrath, when God himself was red of tooth and claw. The unraveling of my belief was both rapid and torturously slow. It started with Calvinism, tearing apart my image of a good god like the tornado we all feared while growing up in a trailer park, and found its foothold in science.”
My essay at The Samizdat today is about growing up in the young earth creationism movement and how I moved away from it in my twenties. Come on over and share your thoughts and questions, and if you’ve had a similar experience, please share your story in the comments there!
A month later, another Wednesday, and this time a church volleyball game in the middle of town, a block from Broadway. We play the bizarre games church children invent when the grown ups are occupied, rules so strange and rigid, and she and I are a team because we say so, and we take on all challengers in the semi-darkness of the brick alley. Olley olley oxen free and there’s yet another ghost in the graveyard. My shirt has a mastodon skeleton on the front.
Head on over to The Samizdat to read the rest!
I remember walking home filthy and wrung out from a day fully lived. I was maybe five, the evening perhaps seven. It was magic hour, the light fading and everything softened and aglow. I walked by the front of the trailer and heard the song through the windows, and then I walked into the living room. The memory stops there, and isn’t much by itself. What came before it is more interesting. I had been in the swamps.
My essay today at The Samizdat is about my earliest musical memory and the role an unlikely musician played in my early childhood. Check it out!