That night people around me were slowly drowning in small talk. I’m not much of a conversationalist so I sat in the back of the room and listened. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I began to spit out phrases from Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.
A teaspoon of soil
We can leave the library then, go back to the creek lobotomized
Emotions are the curse, not death
Self-consciousness……hinder the experience of the present.
Soy una taza, ¡un cucharón!
1 day ago