Oh, the things that can only be whispered sideways to a knowing colleague, or thought privately in the dungeon of the mind. The human psyche, whether on the clock or off, becomes a room of funhouse mirrors facing external animus and internal self-loathing into infinity. In short: work is a drag.
Love Chronicles of the Octopodes – Karen An-Hwei Lee
Emily D. is a biogenetically engineered entity gone wrong, somehow flubbed in the petri dishes and tubes of the “stardust editors of the Genzopolis,” thrown out like yesterday’s trash into a black hole that smells of honey and rhododendrons.
Fieldwork: A Forager’s Memoir – Iliana Regan
There are richer, more precise, even languorous ways to go about describing one’s fascination with the earth.
I, Parrot – Deb Olin Unferth and Elizabeth Haidle
While the medium of Unferth’s work has transmogrified into this alternate form, her message remains the same: How the fuck did I get here, and now how do I get out?
Code of the West – Sahar Mustafah
Here are two representations of the country: One insisting unimaginatively as to what it takes to obliterate the nuances of social difference with blunt force, and the other just trying to get by.
Wait Till You See Me Dance – Deb Olin Unferth
Don’t tell me it’s going to get better, just tell me that you feel it, too.