shipley-about

September 19, 2024

What if my fictions aren’t about anything at all. What if they just are?

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Thought:

“Mistress mine, in what far land,
Where the myrtle bloweth sweet
Shall I weary with my way-fare,
Win to thee that art as day fair,
Lay my roses at thy feet?”

Ezra Pound | “Era Mea”

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