Author Archives: matt

All Around Us Are Ghosts

Imagine you are a neolithic person. You use stone tools every day. You are known for being fastidious, and you only lose 5 tools per year- arrowheads lost in a stream bank or stuck in a deer that runs off and is not found, scrapers set by a fire get covered by ashes and forgotten. […]

The Fox

    You see a lump in the driveway, and as you get closer, it resolves into a fox.  A fox that is laying down in broad daylight.  It is chewing on its own forelimb, now some rocks.  Flecks of spittle are on its lips.  It looks through you as you approach, its eyes half-closed, teary […]

welcome to livejournal

After (literally, no shit) reading a *poem* I wrote (the “bright pressure” one below) to a group of friends and getting a good reaction I have decided to put some of the non-saxophone related creative writing type things I have done on my old website, which has been parked and unused for a while. Perhaps […]

Here’s you

    A love nearly forgotten A possibility abandoned Brought to assaulting immediacy By a simple song and A friendly reminder by Google photos This is you a year ago Here you are happy Here you are not alone Ignorant of the future Would you like to save this? Would you like to try this […]

Bright Pressure

      Leaves fall around me in a steady, impossible rain Spiraling through the slow air of the last warm day in autumn I sense around the edges and from below the bright pressure of future heartache when all of this is just a memory My self, years hence, gazing on this moment with such force I […]


“Is that your purpose? Fixing things?” I have often found it difficult to explain what it is about fixing things that feeds my soul. Seeing this movie in theaters, this scene struck as close as anything ever has. Machines have what purpose we give them, and they are as imperfect or as perfect as we […]


   There is a concept Kintsugi it is the art of repairing things  to be more beautiful for having been repaired:   a bowl, dropped and broken into shards has those shards woven together again by lightning bolts of gold.  The bowl, now stronger now more beautiful now unique, becomes an heirloom- the history of its life […]

The Tree

(written in 2002, before I could even grow a beard)     Can you imagine a tree that wants to be cut down?  Well, that was me.  I didn’t always want to be cut down, you see, it was only towards the end, when I finally realized it was the only way to solve my own murder.  Don’t worry, […]

The Robot At The Window

(written in 2002)     His dim eyes stare unblinking Swal­low­ing whole the afternoon The water-sound of child-laughter Tick­les a condenser Send­ing pulses to his brain. He would go outside But relays and switches Warn him, pre­serve him From the dan­gers of rust And bounc­ing balls.                     […]

Things I will miss: the view from the roof of my business

(written in 2010) Moving out of NYC soon. This is the view from the roof of my saxophone repair business (Stohrer Woodwinds) in Brooklyn, NY. My building, a warehouse built in the 1920s, is located on 19th St. and 3rd avenue in the Gowanus neighborhood of Brooklyn. This photo is taken in the direction of […]