The Gateway to the Mystery of Food


You can never sleep because you are a haunted man, someone who sees beyond this world into the next. You're a writer, naturally, of disturbing--some might say 'disturbed'--fiction. You live in Atlanta, which is itself a pretty haunted city. Full of the spiced ghosts of old barbecue sauces abandoned in municipal parking lots. You talk about language and the creatures that live behind and within language. People are like, okay, we get it, you're weird. You talk about how there's a serial killer inside every breath you take and Arby's is a monument to sin, and people are like, jeeze, man, just, you know, take a vacation or maybe watch TV for a little bit or something. You raise a small garden of syntaxgrass on languageground in your back yard and then the neighborhood association tells you to get your shit together and plant some sunflowers or kale or rosemary, yikes.

[BUY Un Autre Voyage]

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