The baby had come from a place none of us could remember. Our grandmother was headed there.
The author of Mother of God discusses the limitations of realism, Frank Bidart, and the anguished duality of shame.
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The baby had come from a place none of us could remember. Our grandmother was headed there.
The author of Mother of God discusses the limitations of realism, Frank Bidart, and the anguished duality of shame.
Standing in the wreckage of these spaces unlocks a sensation people often crave, but can’t name.
It’s an imagined past, a pastoral imaginary, an alternate timeline in the multiverse.
“Bird,” he cried, “I come on behalf of the emperor. Your voice is all anyone speaks of.”
In the offline world, it’s totally possible for something to be great and terrible at the same time.
The author of Death Valley on writerly solitude, the demise of Twitter, and Best Western Grab 'n' Go breakfasts.
The author of Strangers to Ourselves on finding new ways to understand mental illness.
Please Unsubscribe, Thanks! encourages us to press eject.
The author of Naked: On Sex, Work, and Other Burlesques on the hot potato of performance art, the nutritiousness of filth, and exorcisms.