Last year, I traveled to Atlanta and spent several days on the set of Weapons, the phenomenal new horror mystery directed by my old pal, Zach Cregger. My piece about this trip is now available to read, without paywall, at Gentleman’s Quarterly. I’d been on the periphery of film sets before, but never immersed in the heart of one, with full access to absolutely every part of production. Some of the more bonkers things I saw will need to stay under wraps for the foreseeable future, involving spoilers for a film I have no wish to spoil.
In my 2020 book Mutations, I discussed the perils of community with Aaron Cometbus. Our conversation inadvertently reflected a coastal divide (despite both of us having swapped coasts decades ago), with Aaron representing the organized Bay Area community, and me unintentionally taking on the role of disaffected East Coast loner. Several reviewers cited one particular quote from this session, by me;
I’m envious of anyone who can feel connected to a community over the long haul. It’s caused me some serious grief over the years to not share this feeling. To me, the word “community” is something I’ve gotten burned on over and over again since childhood.
I thought about this quote on set in Atlanta. Here was a community in a configuration I’d never seen before. The structure resembled top-down hierarchy—there’s a reason film crews are compared to military units—but one without the normal pitfalls of organizational rigidity. Everyone had marks to hit, yet complete autonomy within their designated task. From certain angles, every now and then, the whole thing looked utopian.
Also, I never got around to promoting “Debris Field,” an 8,500-word short story I wrote for Apology Magazine in 2014. I hadn’t read it in years before yesterday. Writing short fiction is hard but this one is good! You should read it!
Lastly, I should make a plug for some of my paywalled articles. Three years ago, Creem ran my look at the Winklevoss Brothers’ rock band. Now that both twins have openly embraced fascism, the piece somehow feels even more relevant today. My most recent piece is an interview with John Dwyer, of Thee Oh Sees, which is clearly the best interview I’ve ever done. And the upcoming issue (Autumn ’25) features my look back at Born Against’s miserable 1992 European tour, including the time we visited Dachau with the reunited Articles of Faith. For $2.41 a month, you can access each of these pieces, along with the vast terrain of their 1969-1989 archives.
Don’t make me break down all the things $2.41 is cheaper than. We’re both better than that.