So how do you define this thing called literature? How does that book in your hand compare to text glowing from a tablet? How do those story podcasts drifting from speakers measure up to the intricately sprayed pieces of textual graffiti luring you into otherwise forgettable laneways? If you asked Christopher Walken as he floats above a hotel lobby, defying the laws of gravity and arthritis, his bony fingers would take aim at two elevators, suggesting we could either blow wit’ this or we could blow wit’ that. My pasty digits would like to suggest another weapon of choice: you can blow wit’ this AND you can blow wit’ that…
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