linh dinh

“Slang are crowding out real words, he foolishly thinks, forgetting that every word belongs to the shadowy vocabulary of an illicit crowd, invented to reassure and flatter its speaker, and confuse outsiders to what is being said.”

Linh Dinh, in Sentence (2)

This fun-house mirror, this dark shadow, language. As soon as I say something, you know me less.

A desert of shadows, the illicit crowd, the long gray hallway of cubicles.

Once I grasped a thistle, on purpose, and drew on my chest with that bloody hand.

Truths are like squirrels. Muscular, elusive, and nutty in the fall. They try to cross the street. Sometimes they fail. My truths are squashed on the pavement. It’s time to face up to this need.