When you wrote the bloodhounds and bandages into the script it was a question of refuting the silence, of torching the thread on the way out of the labyrinth They will say you are a poor excuse for a wanderer, that you're still milling about the big summer when you were twelve and the one … Continue reading No More Summers
I promised I wouldn't come back until I had no urge to doodle on the galaxy walls. In the remnants of the waiting room it was all up for grabs – the money I should have hidden away, the heart I should have released. The woman at the head of the circle made me promise to out-design my … Continue reading And This is What it Means to be Awake for It