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144 pages, Paperback
Published October 7, 2025
I didn’t feel any of this as interesting or a coincidence in that moment, though now it surely comes into focus as a big one. But that is because I am organizing a novel now best I can, amidst the rivers and the piles of everyone, and walking only a broken, only an overgrown and burnt road in my mind. It was a major coincidence, or consequential, even the brain-injured can start to realize that, and I feel it that way now, now as I’m writing it, I understand now that I am obviously reporting a major coincidence, that I am writing a novel, which is formally mostly an inventory of coincidences, but at the time you have to understand I was just another Philadelphian, someone who is quite used to meeting people who work at a university or a hospital in different combinatory amalgamations, it’s common.
Alix with no e—ugh, how ambrosial. I still want to gift Moody, his lab, my Oulipian (by brain injury) product, for cash, wanting to dragoon hard coin, incurring wads of cash in this city of hospitals, of cash—wait and mark this, you wait and mark—but I’m still finding it too difficult. No “e,” though, is nothing much for writing. Think of Frank’s limitations, for writing if for living, what a primordial, a black swan Oulipian—no e is just, it’s nothing.