Hey Dispatches,

Sorry for taking so long to respond—the past two weeks have been the funerals of distant great aunts and the weddings of first cousins.

Something specific to Kuwait (and one or two Khaleeji states): we really like to stretch out grieving process here—the body is buried as soon as possible, and the next three days is regimented mourning. Gotta go to the Diwaniya, which is a familial gathering place for men, and greet people who have come to express their condolences from 8am to noon, then break for lunch until 2pm, and from 2pm till salat al-Maghreb (5pm in winter; 7pm in summer) greet, greet, greet; repeat, repeat, repeat. My knees have buckled and my right hand has cultured all kinds of microbial strains. Still got the afternoon and all of tomorrow.

Anywho, didn’t even know there was such a thing as Astro Poets—but of course there are. There had to be.

“Here’s a question: If these Astro Poet were really seers who could read the stars, how is it they didn’t see their own crash and burn coming?”

This line, among many, many others, killed me. The brutality of an Emily Post-Avant takedown makes my week.

And such a fun read The Gunpowder Plot was; an hysterical gripe against the poetry establishment.

How’s it going with you? How’s life? Watch anything good recently?

Also, submitted a poem for the ecopoetics anthology a few weeks back. Hope it’s up to snuff, and hoping to work on another one if work doesn’t eat away at me first.

Best,

Omar