Clothes hoist. They can’t stop every time it gets windy or they’ll never finish the job. Don’t disturb Papa. He’ll rage out of the room and throw darts at us. I wish we had never given him that dartboard as a present—it doesn’t matter how professional grade a set it is. We’re the ones who have been the targets of those darts. Look at that welt on your temple—it still looks angry as hell . . .
A kind of ode to money for which the widower shines. I’ve been drinking and my alexandrines are sleek by the dozen, she said. Here, look, a whole armada of alexandrines. For food I had guayaba and queso blanco—the breakfast of conquistadors with too much time on their hands, and hairs on their hides. We’ve run out of auto-da-fe candidates, he says. Go bugger yourself, she says. Do you just live beyond quotation marks now?
i live beyond grammar and orthography she said rules are for rabbits dont u know and philology is the is valium for the gods i will go on as i wish making myself seen and heard by the dusty corner of our southwest wall i become unmoored an a syntacticle mispeleing fer pleashur n shur to pleace no von im a lower case werd person with nuthin 2 loos
¿Que tu dices?
I’ve lost my ellipses . . .
What I’m Reading:
Meanwhile, from Greenland to the “Gulf of America”, fantasies of lucrative resource wars and land grabs beckon. Like a latent image formed after harsh exposure, the Homeland Empire is what comes into view after the dissolution of America’s fading liberal imperium.
I had a prism. It bent the light. I mistook it for vision.
— Lisa Wells / “13.”
A good way to marginalize the most dangerous political movements is to prove the success of your own. If liberals do not want Americans to turn to the false promise of strongmen, they need to offer the fruits of effective government. Redistribution is important. But it is not enough.
— Ezra Klein & Derek Thompson / Abundance
Cousin Death joins a table at the wedding, the white cloth gleams, the waiting plates, all are made welcome. Mother War smooths the silk of her dress, she feels young and will dance again, after years, with her husband‚ Pity.
— Jane Hirshfield / “The Wedding”
The years from 2015–2025 have been the hottest stretch on record, according to a report by the World Meteorological Organization. For the first time, the report includes a measure called Earth’s energy imbalance — the difference between incoming energy from the Sun and the amount radiated back into space — which is at its highest level since observations started in 1960. And in 2024, the latest year that global figures are available, atmospheric CO2 reached its highest concentration in two million years. “In this age of war, climate stress is also exposing another truth: our addiction to fossil fuels is destabilizing both the climate and global security,” said United Nations Secretary-General António Guterres in a statement.
— Flora Graham / “We’ve just had the 11 hottest years on record” / Nature Briefing
. . . for when the doors are knocked in hot metal to force my poem where my mouth is as a kingdom in the 21st century buys one nation to obliterate another our commander pins the future to a magic orb and gives ol’ reliable a spin he is rewarded handsomely while the children starve. as practice i light prayer candles the way one would a spit we are royally fucked unless we tenderize the rich.
— jess rizkallah / “bootstraps”
All of this can be stopped. A better America is around the corner.
And protest is the first step to that better future. We know that non-violent protest works. It helps to stop authoritarian takeovers. And it opens the way for a better politics to come.
— Timothy Snyder / Bluesky post
My first language was memory. The skin of my face my manuscript.
— Lisa Wells / “13.”
What I’m Listening To:
We put up our tent on a dark green knoll Outside of town by the train tracks and a seagull dump Topping the bill was Horse Face Ethel and her Marvelous Pigs in Satin We pounded our stakes in the ground, all powder brown The branches spread like scary fingers reaching We were in a pasture outside Kankakee
— Tom Waits, Kathleen Brennan & Ken Nordine / “Circus”
I ate the wrong crawfish on my first float trip. It really wasn’t wrong, but eating it raw sure was. A specialized blood test found a lung fluke eating me from the inside out. I didn’t like this because women don’t generally like men with parasites in their lungs. I was scared that I’d have this fluke in my lungs for twenty years. Then a secondary infection led to the removal of fifty percent of my left lung. After six weeks I went home, I was feeling like myself. Now I drive a pick-up. I like that, it looks pretty.
What I’m Reading:
As I fell from the sky, I smelled fish. The fish was in my mouth. My eyes were fish eyes, bulging, bugged out.
I fell like this for years, in the fishy air. I stopped panicking. I could think as I fell.
A long black over coat will show no stain Feel the heat and the burn on your back The rip and the moan and the stretch of the rack All my belongings in a flour sack Will the place I come from Take me back
I’m gonna take the sins of my father I’m gonna take the sins of my mother I’m gonna take the sins of my brother Down to the pond
Mr. Drinky is coming . . . Oy! IT’S Time to get SOUSED! Time to get pickled, oblivious, Plastered, and f***in’ black-out.
Weather the foul miasma In a smoky funk — Wither and wane like an inebriate Monk. Drunk as a skunk!
God’s wobbly and piqued —
A bit distracted — allowing the hate And destruction To bake in to the point of no return. Mr. Drinky is coming . . . Oy!
Please make us forget.
What I’m Reading:
We have seen a nation punished for another nation’s genocide. And we have seen God employed as a real-estate agent, bestowing Jerusalem houses to Brooklynites.
— Mohammed El-Kurd / Perfect Victims and the Politics of Appeal
An irritating squirrel says To an umbrella made of stone:
You are a conflation of an Absurdist dialectic. You are an impossible form.
The umbrella sprouts a stratocumulus cloud on its ferrule and floats away.
The squirrel, inspired, writes a sonnet, follows that with an ode, then a sestina.
What I’m Reading:
The farther she moves away from the door, the harder it is to breathe. She feels like she’s swallowing buckets of water every time she inhales, but she’s lived enough years with the taste of salt on her skin to not panic at this impromptu encounter between air, sky, and ocean.
Backup codes let me access my account if my phone is lost, stolen, or if I run it through the washing machine and the bag of rice trick doesn’t work.
I make friends and influence people.
I spend more time with my wife and cat.
I have curated opinions.
I am a proud ghost.
I’m just reaching out to confirm that we’re all set for next week’s appointment.
I have printed or saved hate speech.
I am kind.
I am a child of the universe. No less than the trees and the sky I have a right to be here.
I favor curiosity over certainty.
I favor curries over potages.
I will renew my passport at the first available moment.
I will flee this country at my convenience.
I won’t preach or convert.
Vote my way or hit the highway.
I am an autodidact that stresses dactyls.
I am an Anabaptist that stresses anapests.
I am a humanist.
I wear my britches up to my sternum.
I am too big for my bridges.
A quote by Bukowski is my favorite mantra.
I follow bouncy balls and shiny things.
I have to do stupid stuff.
In signing this, I acknowledge that, to the best of my knowledge, the information in this evaluation form is true and correct.
I acknowledge that If the office is closed, my vehicle will not be officially checked in until the next business day.
I look forward to seeing you; bye, bye now.
Um, in the meantime have a wonderful week.
Here is a demonstration of how easy it is to stop thinking . . .
What I’m Reading:
Reality is made of the conscious and the unconscious. Both, at the same time. The unknown is to be respected. You don’t have to fear it—you’re a part of it. Whether you want to be or not.