What Happens to Our Numbers When We Die?
When I search for my father, I feel his numbers. Here’s a house number on my friend’s street that mimics the first few digits of my father’s phone. Here, at the 7/11, my receipt totals the amount of the last four digits of his SSN.
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When Americans consume media that privileges white survival, what does it mean for which disasters earn our attention, our money, our likes, our grief?
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“What I look like” is not a static picture cut out and placed in different environments, but one that changes again and again.
The sixth sense, second sight, third eye. We are supposed to have both extra-accurate hearing and perfect pitch, more numerous and more acute taste buds, a finer touch, a bloodhound’s sense of smell.