I haven’t blogged in a while. The semester’s crazy busy now, but that isn’t why I haven’t blogged. I’m behind on pretty much everything work- or writing-related. I’m behind for reasons that are sending me to a neurologist next week, because of what happened five thousand, one hundred ten nights ago.
Buffalo winters are so brutal, the people develop an unspoken collective agreement. People in New York City have unspoken collective agreements due to the lack of space; privacy and freedom are like the white spy and the black spy in Spy Vs. Spy: there is no endgame. Only the back and forth. Only the tide.
The winters are so soul-sucking, reach so deeply into you, they’re a violation of sorts, an internal wrongdoing. The only way to survive them after awhile is to block out portions. You get tunnel vision. Everyone at some point in a Buffalo winter turns on the autopilot and just breathes and stays upright till spring. Springtime in Buffalo is actual real magical spacetime. Earth exhales and the permaslush gray that seeps sky and street of life goes poof. Continue reading