
Ways to Move
reviews of all the movement styles I've tried and the lessons I learned
falling between the cracks on purpose
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reviews of all the movement styles I've tried and the lessons I learned

A few weeks ago, on a gray November day in Istanbul, my friend Maeby and I ducked into the Little Hagia Sophia.

The more I think about how psychic powers might work physically, the more they’ve started to feel physically real and present to me.

I’ve always been fascinated by biology and also by the idea of psychic powers.

In olden times, when the wind strolled in the pines, when fleas cut your hair and bees told tall tales, when I rocked my granny soft and slow in her cradle, there was—and then again there wasn't—a queen whose heart had hardened like ice over a churning stream.

A few months ago my girlfriend Alex bought a car, and she told me, “I want to make the car like your backpack.” She meant the backpack that I’d been living out of for the past couple years, which is now sitting in storage while we settle down to build a house. Over those years, my backpack changed constantly along with the adventures I needed it for, but here’s what it looked like in one of its…

I was squatting by a roadside pull-off in Montana, gently combing my fingers through straw left behind by horse trailers, when I suddenly laughed out loud at the absurd situation I’d gotten myself into.

“Not like this!” the ney salesman said, blowing forcefully across the top of an empty bottle.

“So we were making out,” my friend said, “and she stopped to say she wanted to see me again.” There was a palpable reaction from everyone in the room but me, an “oooh” that seemed to say she had broken some rule or other.

Belgrade, Serbia: it’s a sultry summer night in late October and my buddy Torch and I are dining outside at a restaurant we picked out based on vibes alone.