where we are determines who we are, how we treat the world and it us. Adaptable as we are — that’s the key — we are still the adapting parties, timing what we do to seasons, hours, dark and light. If the world changes, it isn’t adaptation but forced response. In the end, it might be forced to kill us on a larger scale than usual.


outside, even at its bitterest, angriest, most dangerous, is less frightening than the storms that live inside this collection of rooms we once called home: the monsoons of angry words, the burning sands of desiccating looks. Days of becalmed silences alternate with cold fronts coming from your back when you turn away at night.