For those of you who have been engaging more frequently on this platform than me: are there any particular genres of posts that do better on here than others?

Sunlight on my voice brings out the taste of the last last night, the final over-the-shoulder look before the plunge into the post-blues flow, a Mississippi River dried to dusty air where riverboat musicians

... click here.

While I would recommend A.O. Scott’s review and the recent episode of Radio Open Source to help you flesh out a little bit more the context for the film (though I don’t know how I feel about the accuracy

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I would house it within the Tardis-like expansiveness of the nation’s capital city. I would wheat paste it up against the wall in the shape of a politician inviting the passing you to lift up the bank

… a tree, a dove, a kitchen appliance, a dancing art critic following along the dancer who snuck his way onto the stage of Bob Dylan’s live performance of “Love Sick,” the guy leading the whole baseball

I would ask the bear sitting next to me whether or not the bear giving the speech was picturing the audience either naked or in their underwear — whereby the bear sitting next to me would turn and say — after

I would make sure to hide in amongst the comic books at the local general store. I’d want to have a ten year old discover it as an older and less graceful brother bumped into so many shelves that the owner

I would worry I was spoiling a secret. But how could I worry? The lights would be too busy racing up the side of the tree. The bears would be filled with an overflowing excess of pride at having a chance

running along the infinite beach, I would make sure that I had enough frisbees on hand that — from a distance, when thrown — they would fill the sky like bats. I would make sure that I had sufficient enough

I would begin from the success and end with the girlfriend appearing behind the shoulder, reading the title of the piece, and taking a moment to work her way through her confusion. I would keep an eye

I would make sure to include the photo, as the photo makes it. I would make sure to draw a second horse standing behind the first horse with a hoof encouragingly placed upon their shoulder, saying, “No,

I would serve drafts to the wind in the hopes that his ghost — running past — would look at the pages as if he were a character in an all-running version of The West Wing. I would give chase to leaves

I’d probably feature my attempting to defend him by my jumping to the ground like a soldier in the first World War attempting to dodge an incoming mortar shell while bearing in mind that attempting to

I would gasp, draw my hand to my chest, lean in and whisper across the table, “Are you speaking of the daughter of that most exalted house that extended the balm of Christian charity with her sisters to