> 203: I stand at the lip of a pouting valley—SPEAK TO ME!
Here’s some art, ideas, and internet for you:
“The secret fear of the morally depraved is that virtue is actually common, and that they’re the ones who are alone. In Minnesota, all of the ideological cornerstones of MAGA have been proved false at once.” Adam Serwer on Minnesota.
Take an hour-long training on how to document and record ICE. Thinking about running for state and local office as a progressive someday? Sign up for Run for Something’s “Future candidates” four-week training program. Get trained to organize strikes and practice noncooperation.
Seeing similarities between Boston 1770 and Minneapolis 2026.
How to turn off only the cursed AI summary feature in Gmail.
The new era of desocialized media and the rise of slopaganda.
A beautiful essay from Alexander Chee about Heated Rivalry = obviously it’s going in the newsletter.
Poms!
Looking forward to: New Patrick Radden Keefe; new Emma Straub; new Robinne Lee; The Devil Wears Prada II, now with a trailer.
I do kind gestures. Remove my appendix.
I put my ear to a flat shell and—nothing.
I play the lottery ironically. Get married.
Have a smear test. I put my ear to the beak
of a dead bird—nothing. I grow wisdom
teeth. Jog. I pick up a toddler’s telephone,
Hello?—No answer. I change a light bulb
on my own. Organize a large party. Hire
a clown. Attend a four-day stonewalling
course. Have a baby. Stop eating Coco Pops.
I put my ear right up to the slack and gaping
bonnet of a daffodil—. Get divorced. Floss.
Describe a younger person’s music taste as
“just noise.” Enjoy perusing a garden center.
Sit in a pub without drinking. I stand at the
lip of a pouting valley—SPEAK TO ME!
My echo plagiarizes. I land a real love plus
two real cats. I never meet the talking bird
again. Or the yawning hole. The panther
of purple wisps who prowls inside the air.
I change nappies. Donate my eggs. Learn
a profound lesson about sacrifice. Brunch.
No singing floorboards. No vents leaking
scentless instructions. My mission is over.
The world has zipped up her second mouth.
—”Sanity,” Caroline Bird
Laura
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