Our Father Who Art in Bedazzler...
Monday is the great day of forward-ness. From this cliff there is no place to look, other than into the giant rockjam that is our beautiful and craggy life. Sort of. Be around again, it’s great to be Monday. Don’t you know we have magic? We’re a famous magician, entirely capable of slipping off of Myrtle Beach rooftops and eluding Vashon Island deer. But about that more is later. Now we can talk shop. And in that, from our bag of magic, we pull a mafucca rabbit. Bedazzle, fool. In other words, dance. ‘Cuz here’s your carrot, rabbit: Bookslut grows immense in Gillian Flynn’s wake and Tim O’Brien talks home life in the Atlantic. We await Jacko’s bio, memorialize the prose-genius Leonard Michaels, talk cold climes for hunkies and reflect once more on the indoctrination of the old and new English language. That’s all. Except we were lying about Myrtle Beach and the deer. — Kevin Murphy
