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Down to the rialto. Not a cloud in the sky.
I’m hosting a flashover, right here in my head.
I’m setting all the puppeteers to dancing.
And this time, there’s no current in my chair.
In the workshed I’m making a dead civilization.
The fibers full of volts–it’s my best suit.
In my dreams I run from tree to tree.
All the gods on this plain are capacitors.
I’m taking Aesop as my nom de guerre.
I am telling the story. I am full of light.
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Our well-being depends on a better understanding of how the logic of labor has twisted our relationship with pleasure.
“I was my father’s son. My father was Nai Nai’s least favorite.” A Taiwanese American man, driven from home by a secret, reevaluates his childhood memories of his grandmother.
MacArthur Genius Kelly Lytle Hernández makes the case for why U.S. history only makes sense when told as a binational story.