Natalie Nathanson

Everything was slowly becoming insane, jackhammer mad, like a Philip Glass petulant, invasive opera, whose participants rendered repetitive recitatives piecemeal all about me. Beautiful girl children running, tears streaming to be gathered in the arms of their time unseen Grandparents, staccato Hokkien spoken at rapid fire, drawling Texans drooling over Starbucked booty, repellant Rodrigos emanating lovingtongued lewdities and I in my landscape, unravelling. Natalie Nathanson, in thrall to the motions of the planets, took me in.