"I watch my father, in the wide, cushioned armchair, next to the mobile computer station. As it is happening, I’m already thinking: this is it — this i…
Joey Rubin
"I remember it, that egg, with the vividness of today’s breakfast. The guilt, the frustration, the release. The cold texture of bland egg white in my m…
Joey Rubin
"For most of my life, it's all I knew of that time, the last chapter of my father’s boyhood."
Joey Rubin
"Was it from that point that I began to hold the idea of 'being an artist' above all other pursuits and passions?"
Joey Rubin
"I lifted off with the incredibly odd thought that by the time I landed my father could be all better or dead."
Joey Rubin
Your author reads diaries, listens to recordings, and notices patterns: sought, circumstantial, and unrealized.
Joey Rubin
Your author decodes a family culture; what it purchased and what it cost.
Joey Rubin
Your author remembers that not all dreams are good.
Joey Rubin
Your author contemplates the body as a vessel—neither his father's nor his own.
Joey Rubin
Your author listens on repeat to the sounds of his childhood, and a few tracks from later as well.
Joey Rubin
Your author swings from the branches, and wonders when and if (and how) he might land.
Joey Rubin
Your author celebrates 39, with a memory and a castle.
Joey Rubin