Y’all, I spent the afternoon farting around printing things on a letter press printer and it was so much fun and cool.
I typeset my name and the press makes this incredibly satisfying series of “ka-chunk” sounds.
And there was a plate (I guess? I don’t know what this shit is called) of my own words. Words from the bombing book.
And it made me feel a way I don’t know how to articulate. A kind of existential wideness. Or something.