I buried fourteen candles

It’s an arresting opening line.

The story, by Hiromi Kawakami, translated by Allison Markin Powell is about the complicated relationship between loss, place, and moving on from that loss. Place here represents the private madness of loss, a space of transgressive ideas which sits in opposition to the public world. Enjoy it over at Guernica.

Tom Snarsky has put together a wonderful write up of two books from Moloko House. Some excerpt from the poems can be found here. I particularly like those from mead mania >:( by Louis Packard, which has a internet-irony vibe throughout.

On the Way Home by Stephen Palmer uses a shifted point of view to move a landscape around a character. The writer uses the act of looking, taking a photo, as an excuse to shift the scenery, as if the passing train provides some kind of momentum which spins the other viewpoints off-kilter.

Here’s the start to tease you in (as much as one needs to be for flash fiction):

This week’s song is Khruangbin’s Pitchfork set.

Thanks for reading Etch To Their Own, a newsletter about words that have been arranged into a pleasing jumble sale of feeling. If you’re reading this on a website, rather than in your inbox, you can sign up here. Don’t worry, there are always those who wish to depict ducks. Dirty harry. When things get busy at work. New Sammy poem. This was barely pecked out on a keyboard, yet again, by @CJEggett.