nagpalme

We have been dining on the wrong side of life. It’s strange, really. This epiphany came to me on a certain chartreuse day, the kind of day where everything suddenly seems weird. Like when the taste of water is unbearable, and the washing machine seems to sing instead of complain about the feeling of wet socks slurping and slushing inside of him. Like when the ice cream truck plays Symphony No. 8 by Dvorák, and the ferns lean away from the sun instead of towards it. I woke up choking on dust. Nothing new, really. The air was still stale, and my creaky house was still dangling off the precipice of Mount Tsereve. Through the greasy, murky glass I could faintly see the other houses attached to the mountain by …

Read more →