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Tweet Post-Script: A rough draft of this, I believe, was the first time I played the Ten Sentences game with myself. It’s a faithful rendering of what was, in reality, one of the most existentially depressing, grotesque, and sorry ordeals I’ve ever seen. Though over my years of recreational self-medication I so commonly went to . . . → Read More: Post-Script: The Mating Game Tweet Once, while waiting to sit down for dinner at a local bistro, I realized something unprecedented had happened: I forgot to bring a book. As I dine alone whenever I dine out, this is a relatively serious problem. In the pre-smartphone era, I didn’t have the option of fiddling with a clever cellular app. . . . → Read More: Check, Please! Tweet I lay next to you. No: not next to, entangled with. No: not entangled, braided. No: there are no prepositions that fit our configuration. We lay swaddled in the soft cotton of bedsheets; our arms and legs akimbo, your thinner limbs weaving in and through the acute angles of my bent elbows and knees. . . . → Read More: We Suck the Moon Tweet Once, in a workshop, I was pressed by a shockingly hostile roundtable of peers to explain why, precisely, it is that I write. Within the cobwebby cortex of my brain, a number of fragmented imaginings popped and fizzed like fireworks as, aloud, I moved through a series of speech disfluencies—“uh,” “well,” “you . . . → Read More: I Am Trying to Break Your Heart Tweet The semicolon is the most complex of all punctuation marks; it is also the most beautiful. Aesthetically dazzling, it comprises two separate symbols; simple, primordial. A hovering sun vertically pursued by fingernail moon; ovum overhanging an intrepid, eager sperm. A fresco of tension: the semicolon as seen by a sensitive semiotician is emblematic . . . → Read More: ; Tweet Originally, I was only trying to explain the subtler nuances of the moment to my friend. In the explicated memory, I had quit smoking weeks previously and my sense of smell, deadened by the habit, had returned all at once, all while I slept in on a March morning. I knew something had changed, . . . → Read More: The Rationale of Sesquipedalism |
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