I’ve been put on a 20-year watch list. Again.
It’s bloody good I’m a neo-accepter of making and being particles of misnomers. Eating and breathing them too.

Family ghosts roam with the panicked. (All of them.) It’s like a last dance to respect what you guys were doing — you were working on it.

There’s hustle to market, along with rips in the cargo of space/time whose vessels burgeon on ennobling, blobby warmth, piped in like Berlioz, accompanied by addictions to risk among the descendants.