Rogues and riddles

Somewhere in between analyzing every villain’s batshit plots to kill Batman and concluding that The Penguin sucked, we became best friends.
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Better apocalypses

Kind of chaos

I have been considering the microphysics of apocalypses. Not blazing lights and the pale horse of Judgement Day, but smaller devastations.
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My mother as a Salvador Dalí

Kind of chaos

My mother taught me how to love art. She taught me to look for detail, to hold space for emotional impact, to decide for myself what feels beautiful.
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Funerary impulses

Kind of chaos

It’s been years, but I still have the black dress and I still think of the W.H. Auden poem at certain times of day when the hills cast long shadows and airplanes fly out of San Francisco.
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