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a hole that rotates into a day thus largely I survive
apocryphal event and reason to hang her harp
through the convolvulus of an engine of our love:
that all dolls like ours be beaten, be written, be teared
away. I had produced no music. And the friends move on.
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Draconian individual punishment distracts from systemic change and reinforces the cruelest and most racist system of incarceration on the planet.
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.