Bookstore Suspended I will watch her go. Her phone in one ear, her finger in the other. My eyeballs bobbing above the bookshelf. A copy of Benjamin’s Illuminations in my hands. I will watch her go. And when I try to remember how it happened—minutes from now, a month,
“The straight line (road, frontier, grid, linear history and narrative, monologue) is disrupted by the trope of crossing (dialogue, diaspora, rhizome, the fold).” —Neil Campbell, The Rhizomatic West 9/8/20 8:53 am MDT Wind Speed E 15 G 25 mph Barometer 30.29 in (1025.8 mb) Dewpoint 18°F (-8°C) Visibility 0.75 mi
Tucked away in the La Latina neighborhood of Madrid, a small restaurant serves only mushrooms, served in a multiplicity of ways. Late one winter evening, my husband and I, married less than a year then, hovered outside the door, waiting for one of the few tables to empty, for our
Sometimes, late at night, when my body is restless, I leave my dorm building in the dark to go for a walk. I try not to walk far. When I have manic days that end in my eyes carving designs into the ceiling as my fingernails draw blood from my
We wanted fish to bite our hooks. Only the fish. We did not want mammals, amphibians, marsupials, reptiles, or poultry of any sort to latch onto our fishing lines. If you had asked us why, we might have said, ‘Well, that’s why it’s called fishing.’ and we would have been
I am like a small creature swallowed whole by a monster, she thought, and the monster feels my tiny little movements inside. – Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House I do not feel safe in my own home. Not for any really valid or sensible reason. I mean,
