There was a moment, towards the end of a long flight to Greenland, when the banality of dense cloud cover suddenly gave way to a luminous whitescape that announced another world: an endless plateau of ice, the slanting sun casting deep shadows on successive frozen waves that seemed to stretch to the…
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‘The anglophone world, we have to infer, has run out of words for its own feelings.’
Daisy Hildyard on the wisdom of scarecrows.
‘What is the read receipt for?’
Lillian Fishman on texting, power and the ethics of leaving a friend on read.
‘Like pretty much everyone who uses the internet, I have seen many terrible things that I did not search for and that I cannot unsee.’
Rosanna McLaughlin on what the internet thinks she wants.
‘I have a pathological addiction to the internet, which I indulge with the excuse of making art. It rarely translates to anything good and mostly leaves me overstimulated and afraid.’
Paul Dalla Rosa on excess and the internet.
‘rumors of bees on speedwell, / no oxidative stress just / effortless pollination’
Two poems by Sylvia Legris.
‘There is nobody to blame but the Communist Party. They had absolute control during the fifty years it took to destroy Beijing, and they had the chance to develop a modern, civilized city.’
‘Once I came home at the end of August, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Indeed, nothing had.‘
‘Anniversaries, of course, can be a two-edged sword: they invite historical reappraisal.’
‘I arrived at Red Fire Farm – along with many other girls in ten large trucks – late one spring afternoon in 1974.’
