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There she goes | Idiot Joy Showland

samkriss.com · 2,221 words · saved by 1 readers

My closest friend died after a short illness on the 5th of October, 2018. She was twenty-seven years old. Five years before that, I woke up one morning to find forty or so postcards wrapped up with elastic bands on my doorstep. Over the course of a Spanish holiday Anna had written to me dozens of times. Some messages were quite long, describing what she’d seen and what she thought of it. Others were extremely brief. (Tengo spinach in my teeth. A brownish smear across the cardboard. There it is.) A few were poems. On the back of a postcard showing a morose-looking nag in front of an empty buggy, she wrote: Here is a horse in sepia. He stands proudly, turgid with purpose but blind. The coachman is his compass, the tightening of reins his guide. “Why?” You ask. He is trapped by the spinning wheels of time. I was deeply touched by all this kind and creative effort, and when Anna got back I told her so. She was profoundly disappointed. She hadn’t expected me to receive a heavy brick of post

There she goes | Idiot Joy Showland Idiot Joy Showland This is why I hate intellectuals There she goes by Sam Kriss My closest friend died after a short illness on the 5th of October, 2018. She was twenty-seven years old. Five years before that, I woke up one morning to find forty or so postcards wrapped up with elastic bands on my doorstep. Over the course of a Spanish holiday Anna had written to me dozens of times. Some messages were quite long, describing what she’d seen and what she thought of it. Others were extremely brief. ( Tengo spinach in my teeth . A brownish smear across the cardbo

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