It is both: the groove, the needle. Also the music spinning forth and, beneath the music, the hiss. It is the force that scatters
i. Blackout, 1990 My grandfather’s neurons are ferrying the story of his body across dark water. But let’s begin with citronella candles, mosquitoes haunting
Shouldn’t you happen in winter, endless cold snap, bitter winds bruising my chapped cheeks? In movies, you are always gray, set in misty graveyards