“The Secret History of Indian Science Fiction” —
altermag.com/articles/the...
“The Secret History of Indian Science Fiction” —
altermag.com/articles/the...
"The bar where everybody knows your name, b̫ͯủ̗t̞̄ ̪ͫn͉̋o͖̓b̪͗ȏ̠d͂ͅẏ̲ m̯͕̐̈́̕͢u̻̻ͩ̀͜͞s̶̢̯̲̈̇t̢̡͙͔̽̿ ̴ͣ͒҉̥͈e̵̻̝̐̌͝v̴̸̞͉̏ͦě̵̥̙ͤ̀r̆́͏̸͇̮ ̡̲͙̃̿͝ k̽ͭ̾͏̥͉̙́͝n̴̡̫̫̘͋̈́̓͘o̢̻̗̲ͨͨͬ́͡wͪ͌͒͏̛̝̣̖͞ ̛ͣ̈́̂͏͕̠͜ͅî̶͓̟̜̓̐͝͝t̳̩͓̆́̚͜͠͝s̨̡̛̝̭͉̽̃ͧ ̢̧ͫ̊̏͏̟͇̗N̸̷̊̏̌͂ͭ͆́҉̯͎͎͈̰͈͝͞Ä́͑ͦ̆̑͗͜͏̸̛̯͚̺͓̘̩͘͠M̶̸̲͕̞̠͖̹̈́̇ͦ̑̉ͧ͢͟͜͡E̸̴̢͛͂͒ͬ͋͗͠͏͇͕̣̥̭̜͟"
"The bar where everybody knows your name, b̫ͯủ̗t̞̄ ̪ͫn͉̋o͖̓b̪͗ȏ̠d͂ͅẏ̲ m̯͕̐̈́̕͢u̻̻ͩ̀͜͞s̶̢̯̲̈̇t̢̡͙͔̽̿ ̴ͣ͒҉̥͈e̵̻̝̐̌͝v̴̸̞͉̏ͦě̵̥̙ͤ̀r̆́͏̸͇̮ ̡̲͙̃̿͝ k̽ͭ̾͏̥͉̙́͝n̴̡̫̫̘͋̈́̓͘o̢̻̗̲ͨͨͬ́͡wͪ͌͒͏̛̝̣̖͞ ̛ͣ̈́̂͏͕̠͜ͅî̶͓̟̜̓̐͝͝t̳̩͓̆́̚͜͠͝s̨̡̛̝̭͉̽̃ͧ ̢̧ͫ̊̏͏̟͇̗N̸̷̊̏̌͂ͭ͆́҉̯͎͎͈̰͈͝͞Ä́͑ͦ̆̑͗͜͏̸̛̯͚̺͓̘̩͘͠M̶̸̲͕̞̠͖̹̈́̇ͦ̑̉ͧ͢͟͜͡E̸̴̢͛͂͒ͬ͋͗͠͏͇͕̣̥̭̜͟"
The cosmos dreams - until a cry
Sends spangling shards of waking thoughts
To pick up mass and roll up weight.
Then, into sticky orbits caught,
They roil and bloom chaotic life,
And through the great primordial night
Speed up, evolve. First contact made:
A hand against the bedside light.
The cosmos dreams - until a cry
Sends spangling shards of waking thoughts
To pick up mass and roll up weight.
Then, into sticky orbits caught,
They roil and bloom chaotic life,
And through the great primordial night
Speed up, evolve. First contact made:
A hand against the bedside light.
Contact Nap
Undersea things a
nemone fingers,
fists like fronds
that curl uncurl in
imaginary swirl of
tides beyond.
Half in doze they
tenderly close in
abstract quest
while untrimmed nails leave
jellyfish trails a
cross my chest.
Contact Nap
Undersea things a
nemone fingers,
fists like fronds
that curl uncurl in
imaginary swirl of
tides beyond.
Half in doze they
tenderly close in
abstract quest
while untrimmed nails leave
jellyfish trails a
cross my chest.
- Poop faces
- The deflating sound they make when you move them as they sleep
- When they start monkey-clinging to you, the most casual expression of unconditional trust
- The covetous little No-Face-from-Spirited-Away sounds they make when they root
- Poop faces
- The deflating sound they make when you move them as they sleep
- When they start monkey-clinging to you, the most casual expression of unconditional trust
- The covetous little No-Face-from-Spirited-Away sounds they make when they root
And no sun lifts the fog that webs thy brain,
Can there be any sweeter sound than this:
Through baby monitor, a kettle's hiss?
Can there be any sweeter man than he
Who wrangles toddlers and brings the tea?
And no sun lifts the fog that webs thy brain,
Can there be any sweeter sound than this:
Through baby monitor, a kettle's hiss?
Can there be any sweeter man than he
Who wrangles toddlers and brings the tea?
THERE, I SAID IT.
THERE, I SAID IT.