All those linking figures. All that expectation.
All of it singing to her.
essays | fiction | poetry | photography | art
All those linking figures. All that expectation.
All of it singing to her.
In that bowl is something sacred that only two people had witnessed the creation of. I ask Nene if this is what God felt like when he made the world. She tells me that we must feel better, because we never use a recipe.
Our traveling was so fluid it’s like we lived nowhere in particular.
Faces are remembered, words spoken; that brief encounter at the fair, the smell of old sunlight, a slow night train.
How she longs for the asteroid to come, to show them how little they controlled anything.
Reuniting with translator Polly Barton, Matsuda revisits similar themes in this new collection; across fifty-two stories, she tackles the pervasive misogyny faced by women in contemporary Japan and beyond.
Desire could drain a reservoir. Fear could empty a playground. And someone like her would be left to label the files.
“We are prompted to savour each word, carefully probing between our teeth to discover new morsels of meaning.”
Stevie busies himself trying to match two blue pieces of sky. You watch him working the corners and the glands in your throat swell.
Inside the atoms of the cavity block extension live the remnants of a thousand John Players.
They say a lot of the work of being poly is scheduling. When I say ‘they’ I mean smug influencers with poorly produced podcasts, and when I say ‘being poly’ I hate myself.
They have agreed that this is an emergency. Signs need not be heeded in an emergency, they’re quite sure.