Yule Log

You’ve got to read the literature!

As I approach forty, I have fewer and fewer memories of being a child. It is enough that the body remembers.

Plotlines we’ll never see: Carrie grapples with shoe tariffs, and Miranda moves into the sewers.

Those filthy, degenerate daisies have grown back.

“I used to sit for hours / at an electric typewriter. / I remember well its hum.”

Forget gold. Time to stock up on Eggcoin (very valuable) and Scamcoin (not a scam).

Go about your normal evening, but with a candle lit.

“The Dissected Graces in Florence.”

“Mowing the lawn, it’s revealed, is not the torture / it once appeared as the loved one tore through // the yard in heated fury.”

“My ambition to be done with ambition / suffered a setback at my father’s funeral.”

“You mysterious cruel hand, / you cold dropped and not-yet-dropped rain.”

Cory Jacobs and Jason Schmidt’s documentary short follows a creative community held together by collaboration and the efforts of a woman who is part landlady, part fairy godmother.