To telescope, we begin with 300 words, then slice the word count in half for each successive section. We stop when the numbers stop dividing evenly. This week, eight Nass writers telescope the word “fault.”
Hear it this evening, rusted lace fingers and remnants of dirty flame. It has a large mouth, though never eyes on that gaping face. Sings with empty room voices: oil and metal, dustrag fumes, wood polish shallows. … Read More
Mente mia, che presaga de’ tuoi damni, Al tempo lieto già pensosa e trista, Sí ‘ntentamente ne l’amata vista Requie cercavi de’ futuri afanni 1. Let us go now, til it be that all you and I can see … Read More
To telescope, we begin with 300 words, then slice the word count in half for each successive section. We stop when the numbers stop dividing evenly. This week, four Nass writers telescope the word “cavity.” Charlie Nuermberger (cn0260) CW: … Read More
“There’s power in not having to care. As Inez Guzmán remarks, the film Oppenheimer can leave New Mexico just as its subject did: apparently without a second thought. But there’s also power—more ambivalent, yes, but also more lasting—that comes with needing to pick up the pieces.”
“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 first time I saw the house for itself—not as the house two doors down, but as the house that could be parent’s—was the estate sale. Here, the relics of a life.”
