Sy Safransky
Sy Safransky is founder and editor of The Sun. He lives in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.
— From May 2023Sy’s New York Diary
The city so easy, after all, alive for me like some lover never truly left behind, never truly known: the perfumes, the hidden places, the exquisite fears and sweet temptations of the night.
June 1974Sweet Suicide
Confuse love and romance too long and you end up a suicide. Aloneness is the final, undeniable reality of life.
June 1974What Shall God Fear?
I have wanted you, wanted you, out of what? love? need? true love is not possessive, jealousy is a learned response, but oh god, how to let go? how to love you, not own you, how to let you be?
June 1974Sy’s Space
More jobs in the last year than I can remember, and so little sense, through it all, of any purposeful endeavor, of meaningful labor, of real work.
February 1974Sy’s Space
A cloudy, dreary day, sick with a cold, yet I want to mark the day, the year, to settle old accounts and begin something anew. It is what I am always up to, and I see how foolish it is, and how necessary.
January 1974More Baba Ram Dass
You start with the energy to be somebody, then use it to become nobody.
January 1974
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