Snow Squalls in May
What it means to live in a body. How writing takes me out of my body—how I forget my body. And—thump—I’m back. When I write I am not here. Or: I am more here than ever when I . . .
Brick, a literary journal
Brick
PO Box 609, Stn P
Toronto, ON M5S 2Y4
Canada
You tell yourself all kinds of lies to get through the day. — Chris Ware