• the trade

    September 18, 2020 by

    You pick up a rock from the ground, pale white with veins of gray, and thrust it towards the sky. The fragile silence of the surrounding landscape is suffocating, but you tell yourself that you’re only shaking because you didn’t eat this morning before running out into the wet grass without even closing the door… Read more

  • breaking gravity

    September 4, 2020 by

    found things, august edition There are constellations on the ceiling, and they start changing if you stare at them long enough—a stern-eyed rabbit in a bowtie, clouds shaped like crushed soda cans, a man with shiny black shoes who steps on every crack in the sidewalk. Some strange pacing creature regards you with an aimless… Read more

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