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Yat Diaspora Posts

Existential Dread: Millennial Edition

I can’t decide if the threat of nuclear war with North Korea is real. That’s the problem with the Information Age. I know the details–nuclear tests and Frankenstein missiles and bond villain wannabes–but I have to draw my own conclusions. It used to be, “Hey, the Soviets are putting missiles in Cuba,” or “Hey, the Soviets have tested the H-bomb, so hide…

Neville Longbottom and the Second Wizarding War, Part One

Neville and his great-uncle Algernon ambled through narrow aisles, glancing at displays lousy with archaic writing beneath a scrim of dust. Bird droppings marked the shelves here and there in the flickering lights. “Take your time,” Algernon said. “It’s a big decision, and there’s no hurry.” Neville nodded, face hidden beneath an old cloak, hood betraying nothing but a dull fringe of…

Zombies in Berlin: Part Three

I hurry to the stairs, past huddled families clutching each other among the stacks and peer beyond the ledge to the soft-carpeted entryway four stories below. It’s teeming with figures twisting into grotesque poses, jaws snapping, heads jerking. At the center black-clad men fire silver-matte handguns, muzzle fire reflected dully in a hundred surfaces but the report somehow lost in the noise…

On Plane Crashes

I worry about plane crashes. How terrible it must be to witness one. You’re racing down the highway, new-growth pine on either side blurring brown-green as you zip by, wheels growling over asphalt as the wind clears its throat. Just then, another sound rises behind you, a roar that swallows the din of the radio, the thump of the engine, rising till…

See-Through Men

Last night, we were driving the old roads of St. Bernard in Joe’s first truck, the one that washed up on the neutral ground, upholstery muddied, water pooling in the footwells despite the heat. We were in the old truck, just driving, but Joe kept taking his eyes off the road to dig in the clutter behind his seat, the narrow space…

On Disappointment

(Experimenting with style.) Just let it out: I remember after my uncle got out of jail him and my dad futzing around my Grandma June’s house in Arabi. They were working on his bike, or just dicking around, and the beer was flowing, with talk of high school hijinks, something about pot smoking behind the swimming pool, then a slurred warning to…