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There was a lovely woman with whom, as a young man, I was smitten. She seemed to have similar feelings for me. We flirted in a harmless way at work (we were concierges at a well-known upscale New York boutique hotel, I won’t say the name but you’d have heard of it). I was married at the time, too y…

[...] I theorize Rush had experienced some sort of transfer of information from my brain to his. I am not clear on the science of this, but there is no other explanation. I notice he received his PhD from Columbia, where I am often on campus carrying my ally mattress. The thought transfer could’ve …

NOT MUCH OF note in my waking life. People get sick or don’t, people die or don’t, I watch TV or don’t. Sometimes I smoke without remembering lighting up. I continue to go to a deranged hypnotist and try to recall a film by a deceased African American gentleman. I sell collapsible clown shoes. I ea…

She is the kind of woman whose absence in my waking life as the novelizer—if I the novelizer were to be waking from a dream in the dreams—leaves me in despair. She looks at me the way lovers in movies look at each other. That beautiful fake way I desperately crave. I know this is a lie that movies …

[...] I got into Harvard on a film criticism scholarship. At the time, it was a big thing in the Ivy Leagues. A moneymaker for the university. We competed in criticism decathlons against the other Ivies to packed auditoriums. Film was of major cultural import in the seventies, that magical decade f…