“I think often about this evening, and what my friend as trying to tell me. Something about appearances, how things seldom are how they seem? But this is too banal, and she is clever.”
“The rain described by García Márquez seemed compellingly similar to the virus that had upended my own life and the lives of so many others: impersonal, unrelenting, and showing no sign of ending any time soon.”
“When I say room I mean this space that contains me. / When I say this space that contains me I mean I fill this space. / When I say I fill this space I mean this space is my body.”
“To ask people to tell what’s suspicious and unusual is to expose innocent individuals to a system that constantly profiles and projects fear, to always assume the worst.”
“I couldn’t discern an agenda, political, spiritual, or otherwise, and yet the novel felt anything but aimless. Primarily, it read and resonated like poetry.”
“The dead linger after their passing in the memories of those who knew them; this poem, however, lingers only on my hard drive, contextless and adrift in the sea of my thoughts and memories.”
