Inheriting My Grandmother's Nightmare By Anne...
Consider the adhesiveness of things to the ghosts that prized them, the “olden days” of birthday spoons and silver napkin rings. Too carelessly I opened that velvet drawer of heirlooms. There lay my grandmother’s soul begging under veils of tarnish to be brought back whole. She who was always a climate in herself, who refused to vanish as...
“Time that withers you will wither me. We will fall like ripe fruit and roll down the grass together. Dear friend, let me lie beside you watching the clouds until the earth covers us and we are gone.” ― Jeanette Winterson, Written on the Body
Past the flannel plains and the blacktop graphs and skylines of canted rust, and...– David Foster Wallace (thanks, Jim)