2xl: 2016-01-26

I’d like to thank the academy.

I’d like to thank my parents, my producers, and every director I’ve lost in the dark.

I’d like to thank the bullet that burrows blindly into the body.

I’d like to thank my tongue for its tsssssking reminder of my missing teeth.

I’d like to thank the coprophagic for the Möbius metaphor.

I’d like to thank the skull that staves off the shovel.

I’d like to thank bread and butter and the holy toast.

I’d like to thank bacon and the hogs, eyes sideways with fear.

I’d like to thank the first and final flesh.

I’d like to thank the dictionaries that always know just what to say.

I’d like to thank the pedants and the poets and the psychopaths.

I’d like to thank the woeful and the wise and the wordless.

I’d like to thank the forgotten with their unpronounceable names.

I’d like to thank knit and knot, rope and slip, in their verb forms.

I’d like to thank those who tried to warn me.

I’d like to thank the lucky stars, lost behind the light of years.

I’d like to thank the smooth surgical steel of the razor slipping from my sleeve.

I’d like to thank the swollen ticking.

I’d like to thank the pregnant pause.

I’d like to thank the click of the closing box, the odor and the chime.

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