And so the burning question: How did they do it? How did Keats and Lennon create at an unmatched rate and quality? We all might naturally ask these questions, though artists, writers, and musicians can be forgiven if they ask them with a certain greedy, eager need. What chemicals must come together to create this sort of explosion? And can we try it at home?
From the ages of nine to eleven, I worked as a spy. No one paid me, nor did I report my findings to any higher-ups. I discussed my cases with my partner, who went by code name Mountain Chicken Mother of the Buddha.
Stella’s hair is so wet from sweat that it doesn’t look blonde anymore, and the humidity has frizzed the tendrils out around her face. In the mirror across from the bed, we look like three sisters. The mirror has a glamour-shot effect, like all the mirrors in the house.
My favorite coat was made by my father's mother. It is gray like an overcast day, a dark, dirty-water gray, covered in rows of silver-dollar-sized circles, which remind me of cloud-covered suns. It's double-breasted, with slightly peaked lapels, and it belts at the waist. The hem brushes the backs of my knees.
The book is a collection of essays, authored by local and outside artists, geographers, cartographers, bakers, horticulturists, and one criminal defense lawyer, that describe the city of New Orleans—not only the physical, but also the invisible and the transient.