This week we have Eula Biss’s prose-poem-essay on pain, called The Pain Scale, which you can find a direct link to here.
I felt really lucky to find this as it articulates everything I’ve ever wondered about pain in the context of medicine. She articulates ideas about those questions about pain you get from doctors (and in her case, her father) where you’re unsure if they are asking about additional pain on top of the pain you’re already feeling — or as a whole — or compared to the worst pain you know — or anyone has known.
Eula’s pain is unimaginable to me — but the articulation of it has that irresistible persuasive tug that you can find in the work of Anne Carson. So reasonably taking a step forward each time, navigating a little love and the huge distance we face even when we should be sharing something fundamental. Like pain.
Speaking of the distance between us, how about this little slice of sad burning transcendence from Miggy Angel?
Here’s a little more of the power of repetition — a story about telling a story from Poems For The Millennium.
One of the best prize-money-per-word competitions is now opener business. Write 100 of your best words for The Museum of Words.
The prize is a massive $20,000 — which obviously makes it really competitive. You get TWO entries as well, which is a really nice way to not worry about which particular 100 words ever being worth $20,000 if you have competing drafts!
An AI that generates “British Place Names” — with predictable results.
You will also be unsurpised at the top highlight — the potential hamlet of Fuckley.
This week’s song is less a song, and more of a couple of sides of spotify playlists.
Minor Literature[s] has presented us all with is a mixtape full of fun, abrasive things. I’ve only managed to make my way through the “Metal” side of the mixtape, and hope to get to “Wood” soon.
Thanks for reading Etch To Their Own. I hope you’ve found a way to apricate recently. You’re my favourite sort of people. Etch To Their Own is written by @CJEggett almost entirely crosseyed with tiredness and proofread by no one.