The Magpie is someone who notices what gleams in the world.
“My nearly weeping when I watch Lil Buck dance is because I’m not sure this is allowed anymore.”
In which the Magpie finds direction in the grids of Agnes Martin.
The paper is filled with fake villains. But tomorrow’s battle is real.
In which the Magpie tells Hillary: You can go home again.
In which the Magpie takes a ride.
In which the Magpie happens upon two Charlottes, and the things they carried.
Novels are also mirror rooms, in a way; we read them “to see our reflections transformed, to wear another’s face.”
Wherein a question is posed: Is the Magpie a locksmith?
Derek Jarman’s eighties disco footage; Laurie Anderson’s dog.
John Cage, the blooming of the corpse flower, and anarchic harmony.
What kind of story would you like to write?
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