Jesse Ball and Josie Mitchell discuss the process of writing about different worlds, the fraudulence of speech, and why Jesse named his pet dog Goose.
‘Confusion is the only natural response to the world, the alternative would be to just fall in with everyone else’s plans.’
Jesse Ball and Josie Mitchell discuss the process of writing about different worlds, the fraudulence of speech, and why Jesse named his pet dog Goose.
‘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.
Jesse Ball (b. 1978, New York) is known for absurd and philosophical works of social criticism, often in the form of novels. His prize-winning books have been published in many languages. Since 2007 he has been on the faculty of the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.
More about the author →‘When I was 4 or 5 I sent the Queen of England drawings of monsters.’
‘People love to say it to you like it counts: Oh, Lucia, she will live on in your memory.’
‘The place was so squat and pitiless, so endless, repetitive, fluorescent.’
Fiction by Jesse Ball.
‘My friends, what I mean is, this life is shallow like a plate. It goes no further.’
‘You are learning – learning a great deal. It is too much for you, so your body bows out. Then you wake up and you can continue.’
‘On days when the light is beautiful, when the sun is red above the Saône, I find myself regretting not having come more often when my parents were working the farm.’
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