The Elephant in the Room
But the elephant is still there. Always there. And on day four, my co-worker and I decide that we just need to talk about it.
But the elephant is still there. Always there. And on day four, my co-worker and I decide that we just need to talk about it.
Maybe it’s the state of my own fractured life that allows me to listen past the fractures in the composition of Bon Iver’s latest offering, 22, A Million, to see the transcendence hidden inside.
The most concerning aspect of this new policy is that it does not leave any room for thoughtful, spirit-led discussion and potential disagreement.
Day four and I wonder if it’s okay not to write about this.
Tell me: am I using the wrong words? Wearing the wrong clothes? When I say “black lives matter,” why does it translate into “yours doesn’t”?
Let America be America again.
It’s November ninth. I’m broadcasting to you from a bunker deep underground near the Earth’s core where it’s still warm. The election was yesterday, and we all know what happened.
Russians, emails, and lies (oh my!)
We made a Pop-Tart assembly line. You know, to save time. An assembly line of two people. I toasted the Pop-Tarts and my brother Andrew buttered them.
What could have been? What would have been, always debated. Again and again, the future and now, and tears, but only hers.