DB Graves > Recent Status Updates

...shame-facedly self-conscious in the unused presence of one so pretty and dainty as the new Teacher.

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I had to read this in a university class didn't enjoy it, but want to give it one more go before it gets rehomed to the little free library.
Running count of how many people notice how good and pretty and nice the Teacher (always capital T) begins now.

oh
it's about magic covid now

I think this would appeal more to fans of cooking shows

Kensignton Market? A book set in a place I actually know well? o:

It's infantilizing.

I want to like this more than I currently do.

She rarely prayed outside of collective worship, but out there, when she was seperated from the heavens by only a few millimeters of alloy and glass, she felt God blazing from every planet and star.

They all prayed in the dark, be it to the Christian God or the Islamic one or the Hindu many-faced pantheon or the cruel, calculating, exacting god of Science.

These days I see the edge of mortality. The edge of death and dying is around everything like a warm halo of light sometimes dim sometimes irradiated. I see myself see death.

...I want to throw up because we're supposed to quietly and politely make house in this killing machine called America and pay taxes to support our own slow murder and I'm amazed we're not running amok in the streets, that we can still be capable of gestures of loving after lifetimes of all this.

And in every playground, invariably, there's a kid who screamed, FAGGOT!, in frustration at some other kid and the sound of it resonated in my shoes, that instant solitude, that breathing glass wall no one else saw.

I hold my hand between the fluorescent light and the dead-egg wall and squint my eyes, and for a moment, I can almost see the silhouette of something holy and good, but then it disappears.

I think that is why I could be a punk, why I could live in a warehouse with twenty people. I was raised in a nation of kids, this kind of feral childhood that just would not go down these days. We're way more precious of childhood than in the '80s.

- Brontez Purnell, interviewed by James Spooner and Chris L. Terry