future recuperation

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solstice
Our work now: We know it. None of us are free until all of us are free.
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sarah mccarry
1
the early history of light
I know that reads like something out of a story, but that’s just how things used to be there.
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sarah mccarry
buoys
Sometimes you will knock over half the tray of welcome drink on yourself and, covered in champagne at 9am in the early stages of a sixteen-hour day, you…
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sarah mccarry
4
despair has its own calms
If I am ever trapped on a boat that is actually a cage maze with fake hazards, I guess I will do fine.
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sarah mccarry
4
the story of the deckhand who pretended to be a sea-captain
as related to me by the sea-captain M.— C.—, in a tavern in the port of Hamburg, in the summer of the year before the plague Once upon a time the…
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sarah mccarry
the city of cats
In the grass and over and under every corrugated-tin fishing shack and ramshackle dinghy lounged cats: cats rummaging through piles of fish heads, cats…
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sarah mccarry
solstice
The ship sailed out of Harlingen late at night with the high tide, the ragged end of the waning blood moon swollen huge and low over the water, the…
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sarah mccarry
mouse gardening
On March 8th of last year I walked out of my apartment in New York for what would be the last time, although I didn’t know that then.
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sarah mccarry
future recuperation
love letters from the end of the world

future recuperation

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