When I was a child I was terrified
of the space between One and Zero
vast as the ages before my birth
strait as my death—late at night
I heard my parents arguing
lovingly in their locked room,
the angora cat coming home
with a sparrow in her mouth,
and the raindrops on the shingles
counting themselves—how to sleep,
how to cross the empty place
between the name “sparrow”
and that limp thing crying,
adamant, creating me with its cry
A new set of note cards by the artist and writer documents scenes of protest in the 21st century.
In her new film, Jodie Foster transforms into a therapist-detective.
From “The Crying Lot of 49” to his latest noirs, the American novelist has always proceeded along a track strangely parallel to our own.
Basement books… Kate Wagner replies… Reading Pirandello (online only)… Gus O’Connor replies…
