pablos

I live in filth, but if you saw my room briefly, I’m sure you’d disagree.

The first few times I meet someone, I make several categorizations.

Recently, I’ve come to realize I’m not sure what I want.

Over the past year, a phrase I’ve become increasingly fond of is that “[something] is a ball of wax.”1 I first heard this phrase in an academic context referring to Substantive Due Process—an area of constitutional law notorious for forcing distinct quest…

A few Sundays ago, I stood before the Church body, freshly baptized, with a bouquet of yellow tulips in my hand.

Now and again, in moments of weakness, I think about you.

When I was young, my parents frequently took me and my brother to the New York Hall of Science in Queens.

There is perhaps no convenience so humble, so plain and unremarkable in its daily use, as a pair of glasses.

As I’m drafting this, we’ve just passed the holiday season; from it, I have some general thoughts about what makes a good gift.

From a liminal space —a world between worlds— Doom’s empty gaze fixes upon me.