You go down empty-handed or the telling is a lie. That was the first thing Weha put in me, before the breath work, before the shelves, before she ever let me past the first drop. A teller carries nothing up. Not one shell, not one fish, not the smallest bright thing you fall in love … Continue reading The Clean Small Song
Category: essays
There Is No Junk Mail
A direct-mail man was once asked how he could live with himself, sending out all that junk. There is no junk mail, he said. There are junk people. He meant it as a defense and it isn't one, but buried in the ugliness is the only useful theory of slop I know, and it starts … Continue reading There Is No Junk Mail
