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Let me had been
the star watching that night
the rain battering the building
like a child yelling More!
We just have to want to and to think hard about it and then we can lift over the wheat fields and fuzzy orange cattle, one. . .
“I was having coffee with my subconscious. He was a peculiar looking man. Small, with a waxed mustache and crossed legs.
On providing therapy for agents of state violence.
Two Palestinian novels confront the ghosts of the Nakba.
There’s nothing novel about Netflix’s culture of fear.