Holy God the Editing Is Over
Holy God the Editing Is Over
Just turned over my first book! language is music language is magic
As of today I have finalized every word in my debut book, The Tears of Other People: A History and Memoir of Displacement in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. (Preorder is still available.) Multiple years of editing have reached an end. Now it’s off to layout and design with Irrelevant Press and on to the audiobook. I am excited to show you this fucking book, and I am excited to give my brain a break after writing it. This week’s been like saying the same word over and over til it loses meaning except there’s actually like 66,000 words and they mean quite a lot.
It’s the end of February once again. Spring approaches. The fascists are out in the street with increasing intensity, as are their natural enemy, the faggots. Mama’s changing medications and struggling with certain mental health concerns.
Today’s entry in the gratitude journal is: The poetic sharpness of the phrase “sick fuck.”
Try it out. Just incredible. It starts in the front of your mouth with that fricative ess, pulls to a glottal stop in the back of your throat, then once again to the front: fff to the uhh drag over the tongue and then ck! stop the phrase on a double-click. Sick fuck. A spondee. Neither syllable to lack emphasis, both jutting out, or poking in, leaving little holes in anything malleable. Like a pair of sharp white incisors.
The kind of expletive that could take home and show your folks. Get out of here you: bastard? Not true. Not even close. Get out of here you: skank? Okay now we’re going somewhere. But get out of here you sick fuck… now there’s a curse. There’s a swear there’s an oath. Now we’re cursing. Now we’re doing some real harm, or making someone laugh, as the case may be.
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Your Ernest admirer,
evergreen<3