Foreign Self

Dear Public Journal, The rows of listerine and foot creams seem utterly foreign to me. What language do the potato chips speak? I've been working on two other posts in conjunction with my Artist series and dissertation research, yet I found a need to write this instead, so here begins my public journal, entry one.... Continue Reading →

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Winter’s England

Darling, It's been a while. I'm sorry. Winters, you know, are so very difficult. I visited Lewis's grave around the very beginning of this one, a little after my last letter. Had class on the day he died, so I wound up going on his birthday instead. The train from Stratford to Oxford is about... Continue Reading →

Autumn

Lovely, Autumn has long been my favourite season. The colours are lovely, the leaves are crunchy and cover the ground, and, in Arizona, the weather actually begins to cool down. Here, however, it's been cool for a while and is instead now getting colder and much darker. I was terrified before I came because I was terrified of... Continue Reading →

For she had eyes

My darling daughter, As you might be this likewise, having characterised me, I must warn you of something. Whether we like it or not, it's very likely that many people will highly dislike us. Not for any good reason, mind you; but, simply because of some obscure label that has been attached onto us. I am... Continue Reading →

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