Fighting a somehow-not-covid cold this weekend (it's mostly manifesting as laryngitis) which maybe explains the sentence selections leaning toward the terse.
The day, as I am writing, is like a crystal without faces.
"The Secret Life", Patricia Lockwood in the London Review of Books
Where there is dirt there is a system.
Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo, Mary Douglas
Encountered while reading Discard Studies.
Memories of a murder are expensive.
Lumumba: Death of A Prophet, dir. Raoul Peck
She hated it when people dressed constructs; it smacked of whimsy, like making one's hammer wear a hat.
Harrow the Ninth, Tamsyn Muir
The Locked Tomb audiobooks are a recurring comfort listen for me so this sentence is not a "new" perfect sentence encountered per se. I just appreciated it, again.
I was a bookish and retiring child and their adult friends, mistaking a melancholy nature to what was just shyness, got me all sorts of horrifying picture books.
Something Good 96, newsletter by Mark Slutsky
Submitted by Sam.
To behold Trump over the weekend—reeling from a crushing civil fraud judgment, getting jeered as he tried to sell nonexistent $399 golden high-tops onstage at a sneaker convention—was to see something forgotten and left to turn liquid and moldy in a bag at the bottom of the fridge.
"Fantasy Convention", Tom Scocca for Defector
Cocaine in the River Thames is 'another problem eels don't need', says expert
2019 headline in the London Evening Standard
Via Bluesky. The "another" here really wonderfully gestures toward a whole byzantine realm of Eel Problems.