5775

Shana Tova. Gut Yor. Happy New Year.

The last few months of 5774 were pretty dismal for the world. Here's to 5775 being more full of light.

The war in/on Gaza was heartbreaking from a number of perspectives. I didn't write or publicly post much about it. I am posting below a poem which I wrote about Gaza a couple years ago (and published in the lit mag Promethean) because it is, sadly, continually relevant.

I participated in a few actions this summer with a group called If Not Now. People are thinking, people are working, people are trying to do inspiring things.

Anyway, I haven't been posting to this blog very regularly, but you can also stay up with me on facebook and twitter (and now ello).

You can also check out some nonfiction I've published over the past few months:

- Under Annihilation’s Sign: Public Memory and Prospect Park’s Battle Pass (with Oksana Mironova) at The Architectural League’s Urban Omnibus

- Pierless (with Oksana Mironova) at BKLYNR

- Ordinary People and Ordinary Stories  (Andrew Worthington interview) at The Philadelphia Review of Books

I'll leave you with that Gaza poem:

Gaza

Prized city, resting place of the prophet’s great

grandpa. The Phoenicians visited you

on their way from Tyre down to Cyrene.

You were home to the first Christian monastery.

You fell to King David, whose heavy

shield I wear around my neck.

You fell to the Caliphate. You fell

to the crusaders. Salahuddin

took you back. You flourished under the Pashas.

I don’t understand the modern history so well.

I have sat with otherwise rational men,

and listened as they became irate

over the subject of borders.

I understand that there are high rises

with people living inside of them.

I understand they have nowhere else to live.

I understand that if a missile hits

a building, the people in the building die.