Old unfinished drafts of stories that I hadn't worked on for a while tend to grow stale in my mind—I always remember them as being far more rough and unpromising than they actually are. But working on them again—almost always—reveals that it is only the memory that is stale. When the dry crust comes off the surface, underneath is sap still as liquid and fresh as the first day. It's just that if you don't go back to it you'll never find out.
The state of the world and the lubricated ease of social media together conspire to turn us all into (if not journalists per se) opinion columnists and unpaid political analysts, and I'm not sure how useful that even is as a contribution to (which, even?) public sphere, but I do know that living in it too long makes my throat feel dry.
I love Mandela Effects (basically weird mass false memories) and discovered only today that there is actually minor Mandela Effect about where Sri Lanka is—a surprising number of people seem to remember it being directly south of India, rather than off-center to the southeast https://mandelaeffect.com/sri-lanka-location/
I think the Supreme Court's bowing to majoritarian pressure on Ayodhya underscores more than ever the need to have broad, critical understandings of India's medieval history.
I'd like to contribute to the discourse with a bunch of photo essay-ish toots about the evolution of the myriad meanings of temples and idols - in particular, their meanings in warfare. What should I start with?
You stumble into the Shop, flustered from the hustle and bustle of the day.
The Man Behind the Counter hands you a hot drink, and points to a notice that says:
"We will be upgrading to the latest version of reality, sometime over the next 8 hours. Thank you for your patience, keep calm and drink on."
A spot of self-promotion:
My poem in the July-August issue of Poetry Magazine, here:
I did an interview http://www.bigecho.org/vajra-chandrasekera-interview It's been a while and I always forget that I actually like doing interview-type stuff. Though also I worry that I talk too much in them. Always with the having too many things to say.
Really glad that Krish Raghav's music newsletter is back.
Ȟe is a mountain as hé is a horn that comes from a shift in the river, throat to mouth. Followed by sápa, a kind of black sleek in the rise of both.
— from “Ȟe Sápa, One” by Layli Long Soldier
If there’s pee on the seat it’s my pee,
battery’s dead I killed it, canary at the bottom
of the cage I bury it, like God tromping the sky
in his undershirt carrying his brass spittoon
— from “Song in My Heart” by Dianne Seuss
That the moon causes tides
seems too witchy to be science.
The sea purging sheet iron,
jeans, a jewel-eyed
— from Kaveh Akbar’s “Exciting the Canvas”
Writer, critic, and editor, mostly of speculative fiction, from Colombo, Sri Lanka.
The Wandering Shop is a Mastodon instance initially geared for the science fiction and fantasy community but open to anyone. We want our 'local' timeline to have the feel of a coffee shop at a good convention: tables full of friendly conversation on a wide variety of topics. We welcome everyone who wants to participate, so long as you're willing to abide by our code of conduct.