Listening is like dragons on an uncomfortable day. Last night my feet were cold, biting, I think they bit me. Sunny Bono, but we’ve heard that one before. Yesterday I sold my chappals for an accent to wear in America. Those gay guys are amazing, look how they synchronize, blueberry cascading into millenniums and stroking rock stars. This old man makes sweet love with guerrilla soldiers while daughters smoke cigarettes from little bags of snowdust wrapping. Look to the sky. Nightmares don’t deserve discussion, but jugglers do. Sexual predators are all named Joe. What a coincidence! Travails of this sort prick at smugglers as they relieve themselves in corners and cupboards. Payals tinkle, legs stretch. Methane and carbon monoxide and castrol. Look, it’s me. No, nursery rhymes gone crazy. Children will jump from high towers – like Fine – and go splat.
Submit a Verbatim
- On Fanning Flames and Drowning: A Reflection of Grief and Fury
- Jack and/or Jill: Full Design
- 70 of Princeton’s Next Big Construction Projects: A Nass List
- THE PHILOSOPHICAL FIVE (my very objective opinion on the best and worst philosophers of all time)
- We Added 200 Strangers on BeReal, and We’re Never Opening the App Again