Witch Creek, Ceder

I lean against the hot breath of wind, feel the sting of dirt and eucalyptus leaves glancing off my skin. I am unable to tear my eyes from the horizon, sure of the slow grey form reaching a long arm towards the coast. Another gust. The power lines, rubber already glistening in the brutal sun,…

Speaking Berlinish

(Due to some confusion which is entirely the result of my imprecise writing, I’d like to add the disclaimer here that this post is not about the dialect of German spoken in Berlin, or even about German language at all.) There is something disconcerting about being born into a lingua franca, traveling abroad and hearing…

Thoughts on NYC

The energy of New York swells and dips like the waves that surround it, and I am tossed, similarly, about the streets, caught in the tide of bodies. The sounds coalesce into the same white noise comfort too as the ocean. It’s easy to feel as if I’m standing on a Moloch, a monstrous machine…