In a world more and more filled with breaking stories, shocking video, and viral outrage, it is becoming necessary to can’t even. In this way “I can’t even” is a philosophical expression: the economy of attention, emotion, and time has overloaded, and I assert my right to can’t.
Now, our devils eat beating hearts, and our love interests have well-defined cheekbones.
The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that in writing this Alanis has a much deeper, more radical, and philosophical concept of irony. It seems to me that Ms. Morissette is remarkably well versed in the theories of irony from Erasmus to Paul de Man.
A: It’s just that yesterday she had a small crisis. She is recovering from an operation. She doesn’t feel well.
B: Unforgivable behavior… I just assumed it would be all roses. She signed a letter of resignation?
Are we producing too much Shakespeare? Two Reader editors take sides.
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B: Ok, but if we find out you voted—your five fingers? Michele? You might not see them anymore. There is not a shortage of what we can use. Like, Bible. You’ll be like, “Everything was very efficient. I was knocked out for a bit while they looked in my stomach, and was home again a few hours later. Man, was I impressed.”
A: Brutality stands in stark contrast to our values as a nation.
B: No. Brutality, cynicism…those too are civil rights worth fighting for…
A device perhaps for the incontrovertibility of the one to win credence for the other. That then is the proposition. Perhaps the result is a sandwich. This much being unknown.
A: A trained ape…
B: We need to get this behind us. This nation admits its errors, as painful as they may be.
A: A trained ape preventing surveillance of millions of people at a time? That is totally within our abilities.
Use that fear. Wear that fear proudly like a communion dress, like a charm bracelet, where each charm symbolizes a life experience. Do not actually wear any charm bracelets. They show weakness.
I want to take some of the methodology and see if I can apply it to a genre not covered by the lab: Dino Erotica. You know, that sub-genre of self-published short stories featuring inter-species romance, made famous by Christie Sims and Alara Branwen…
My process almost always begins with a camera, but I’m not really a photographer. I have always been more interested in the noise around a photograph. All of the subliminal things happening around the moment of photographing that don’t make it into the image…
A: We’re French, we had to put wine in the story. And so life had champagne parties.
B: Well, a party without champagne…
A: —Is a war without weapons. You know, if I was younger, we’d have had a great passionate affair for two years and been friends the rest of our lives. I can tell you that frankly. That said, if you violate my airspace, there will not be a funeral!
What an amazing and weird piece it must have been. Six live snakes, strung up from the pipes of some loft space, played five custom string instruments made of wood. Each snake had a soft white collar around its head and tail, and string was tied to each of these collars; the top string led to the roof, the bottom string to the instrument…
“I am not what I am.” Wait, what? No Fear Shakespeare—the Sparknotes guide that translates Shakespeare into “the kind of English people actually speak today”—graciously glosses this as “I am not what I appear to be,” but he doesn’t really say that does he? No, he doesn’t; he says he is not who he is. This is not a question of weird/scary Elizabethan English.