Mindblown: a blog about philosophy.
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Complicated
Bez is laying on my sofa in a thin yellow dress, the buttons undone from the top and down to a dangerously revealing level. There is a fleck of sky blue paint which nests inside the hollow of her throat, something she’s picked up from the painting she was working on this afternoon before coming…
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A Letter From a Friend
Dear Kameko: Does every man snore like a Harley now? Did they always do that? I don’t remember them doing it when we were younger. They used to be like movie stars, all muscles and smooth skin and thick hair that felt so good between your fingers. It’s funny how that all changes. I’m out…
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Wen and Big Sur
I spent three weeks once living in an old silver Airstream trailer, near a beach in Big Sur, with a woman named Wen. I was nineteen and newly single, after my near-marriage to Christian came crashing down like a thirty-ton block of ice from the face of a glacier, and so I did what only…
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Super Bowl Sunday
I’m laying on my sofa in my underwear and listening to Prince singing Purple Rain. Do people still make fun of Prince? Do people still listen to him? I don’t care. It’s one of my favorite songs and one of my favorite albums, and I don’t care what people think about it. One of the…
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Poor Timing
I am sick today. My head is a throbbing ball of mucous, my eyes burn from fever. I am aching in every joint and just want to stay under a blanket on the sofa. This is poor timing, as tonight I have plans to have dinner with Nikola. He is very understanding when I call…
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In the Bath
There are two bathrooms in my house, the one downstairs which has the shower that the dog sometimes uses, and the one outside my bedroom where the clawfoot tub lives. It’s a grand old thing, and was in the house when I moved in: cast iron, painted white on the inside, purple on the out,…
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Ghosts In the Pages
There are ghosts caught between the pages of this old book I have, pressed like moths between the paper. I can see their shadows when I turn the pages, the line of a shoulder here, the curve of an eyebrow there. Sometimes, when the light is just right, I can see the ghosts on facing…
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Unsettled
I am dreaming of a girl named Adelaide. In the light of the sun, her hair is the color of sunflowers, her eyes the deepest blue, her lips apple red, and her disposition equally bright and warm. By moonlight however, she becomes a seductress, hair and eyes black as onyx, lips cold and aching for…
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Also Tesla
“My name is Nikola,” he says, his voice touched by a thick accent, something Eastern European that I can’t pinpoint. “Like the inventor, Tesla.” “Do you work much with electricity, Nikola?” I ask. “Hardly, no. I make things, but electricity isn’t usually involved other than to keep the lights on over my head. Please,” he…
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Anachronism
Who is that man sitting across the restaurant from me, in a pinstripe suit, tie, hat and goggles? Yes, goggles. They are pushed up on top of his hat, like he’s just gotten off a 1920s racing motorcycle, and come in to have a quick bite before resuming his cross-country journey. They’re rather fetching, actually.…
Got any book recommendations?