It's fiction's job to express how it feels to be living now, and it's a complex feeling, full of contradiction. To me it often feels like a brutal trivialization of reality.

Absurdity isn't quite so absurd as it once was.

We're getting used to reality and fantasy passing into each other. Much of the border between them has been erased.

Trauma, and certain important experiences, can imprint on us at a genetic level.

The idea that language can be recombined to create new forms, new things, is of course very old in poetry.

Toronto is hard to capture in a few strokes.

There's some evidence that before events of mass trauma, even unpredictable ones, people begin to feel higher anxiety, often expressed in terms specific to the event.