As the rusty gate to the Municipal Office opened with a squeak, Agha hobbled in. His arthritic joints protested each step, but he trudged forward.
Death Certificate
The Mars Room by Rachel Kushner
The Mars Room is a prison novel that casts shades of black light on “normative” life. It’s brilliant, dark and an attempt at honesty that makes the recent tribe of dystopian fantasy novels seem like adolescent tales out of Pollyanna.
Poems from a Series on the Sierra Minera and Its Mining History
Mina La Verdad de Un Artista
Truth of an Artist, strange name for a mine.
It´s hard to reach. Nobody wants you there.
Haha Lol.
They sent me to Moura, I think, because I’d been shoving MDMA in my school shoes and bombing it in the disabled toilets at lunch. Could have been anything, though. Just a guess. There’s a limit to the number of times you can get back to third period maths, all pupils, wired on the slow turn of a clock’s hour hand. ‘Can you come with me, Kieran?’ someone asked. Could not for the life of me tell you who it was, though. When it came time for a response – which I think whoever’d asked had been waiting on for a few minutes, or maybe just seconds – as to why this was all happening, I shrugged. ‘Laryngitis?’ I wondered out loud, because I was fucked if I knew what the symptoms were. Anyway, where was I again? Moura.
No Exit
Mr. Barnevald left Mr. Evans for a Miss Kruger, a delicious rose of a woman, as Mr. Barnevald described her.
Advice to Ripen Her Words; Options; The Road (One Of Many Personal Freeways)
Advice to Ripen Her Words
Reading no absolutist treatise has convinced her.
Days of relative good occur: no carpenter ants
in the sill; no too soft fruit on grocery shelves;
no June losing streak to end the pennant hope;
no overt faults crumbling at continental edges.