About Screaming Kettle
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 … Continue reading
I’ve got a new essay up at The Samizdat. Today I’m looking at two great underappreciated films and using them to discuss solitude and observation in the life of the writer. Come on over and check it out.