This happened in Detroit or Iceland. This is inside me. It’s not something you can fully comprehend unless you’re carrying a giant measuring device of Celtic origin or one of those mirrored spy cameras that allow you adequate perspective. This is a territory. This is a bringing together of disparate leaves. I fix things, an elk-like tendency to bugle, old rose bushes with too many … Continue reading Morality and Intention in the Novel of Faulty Utensils by Rich Ives