Jimothy’s Riverwalk

A kneeling young woman is placing river stones methodically into an ash wicker basket. She has a drawn miasma of sadness and effort, stopping every few stones to assess the weight of the basket. Whipping, angry and wild African wuppertails of jet-black hair are annoyingly unbecome from the crease of her chapped lips by a

The Scrivener Cowers

Once Thinking of What to Write "The human does not disappear from the kind of nonhuman bioethics envisaged here; in fact, humanity functions as its strategic point of entry."[1]For me, this transhumanist stage (Zylinska's strategic point of entry) of humanity is reachable, perhaps even rapidly approaching if we take its implications as imperative, which the


The Coroner Struck a Match Shall we not just take a moment to talk? To connect distemporally and snatch these repeated instances from the viscous pour of infinity, a sludge haul down a complicated sequence of iron pipes, forged in the lateral veins of our sun. Who does the talking, and who does the listening?

There It Is, Just out of Reach

I Dreamt of Lilacs this Morning What I picture is myself leaning back on the couch moments ago, from the perspective on the other side of the ottoman, as if crouched stealthy copping a peek. What I remember is the feeling of arching my back, even while I stand still. I am not really sure

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