Tomorrow I’m improbably reading in the excavated interior of HiFi with variously impressive people. If things go well I’ll be reading an unfinished piece about small planes. If things go poorly, I don’t know, I’ll read some evocative acre of this Tumblr? Please attend. I’ll be the guy microadjusting his hair.
The earth was warm under me, and warm as I crumbled it through my fingers. Queer little red bugs came out and moved in slow squadrons around me. Their backs were polished vermilion, with black spots. I kept as still as I could. Nothing happened. I did not expect anything to happen. I was something that lay under the sun and felt it, like the pumpkins, and I did not want to be anything more. I was entirely happy. Perhaps we feel like that when we die and become a part of something entire, whether it is sun and air, or goodness and knowledge. At any rate, that is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great. When it comes to one, it comes as naturally as sleep.
Willa Cather, My Ántonia
Bell attached to ribbon
Reed of pasta
Dehydrated snacks I bought them when they were mostly immaterial kittens
Dismembered plastic bag
Box of macaroni