HeyJaredBird On A Mast
Essays & Memoir on rumination, ruining good things, and really loving bad ideas.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 11
- Latest publication
- Sep 29, 2026
- Audience
- Checking…
- Earliest in this view
- Jul 8, 2026
Latest issues
An Infinite Number of Doors (opens the original)
Read excerpt
I went digging through my archives and found the first pages to the novel I tried writing twelve years ago. I was surprised at how alike it is to the story I am telling now, how the same points and sentences that haunt these pages have made a specter’s showing on my current work. I guess the story has been eeking its way out for sometime. What I am working on now is what happened because I never got the tale down, because I kept not speaking my mind… but all the same melodies are there. This is
The River Ouse (opens the original)
Read excerpt
I recently submitted a poem to an international publication. They passed. So it goes.I had been thinking I needed to get my work out somewhere. I want an official stamp from the authorities. Sometimes I want attention, I want someone other than me to call me a writer. I don’t know why this feeling comes, or why it goes.Curious though, I don’t think my poems are my strong suit. They are not my medium. Like working in oils one night and then being surprised when someone says I am not a master yet.
Dirty Boots, Dirty Magazines (opens the original)
Read excerpt
This piece walks a line I am conflicted about. I am exceedingly protective of the age I am speaking of, of my childhood. I hate the current events that churn like a hurricane over this topic. I worry how it will be received away from my eyes. How a child comes to understand their sexuality is private, that it should be a process of slow curiosity, solitude and time. The discovery of pornography by children is common enough, but it is complicated when it is laced with abuse and phobia. I try to t
Hell & High-water (opens the original)
Read excerpt
I went away a few years ago, and I guess in some ways, I didn’t come back, not as I left anyway.I didn’t know traveling would change my life. To even say that feels cliche. And I feel I have even written about it that way. Basic sentences, not grasping on to what happened when I left home. It has been hard to capture the feelings. Maybe because they exist in opposition. Clarity. Confusion.I think it is quite human to feel we become the roles that others would use to define us. I know I clung to
The One When I Interview Myself (opens the original)
Read excerpt
I am not sure I have done a decent job letting you know that I am more than the tragic figure who writes the sad sappy essays of how hard it is to write. Dammit. I have whimsy, I swear, I’m silly even! I was wondering how I could offer up more of myself to you and thought I just needed to be interviewed by someone, but who, how… Ah, fuck it I thought. Just google some questions and answer them. So here: This is the one when I interview myself. Photograph from my personal collection.<a class="ima
Publishing over time
Last 90 days. Choose a month to open its work.
Recurring subjects
Named in the text we hold. One piece can cover several.
Audience
No verified audience measurement yet.
About this data
Counts cover the work we have indexed. Tone needs enough text and a confident classification. Excerpts and episode notes are not full articles or transcripts.
Identity or attribution wrong? Suggest a correction.