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XXII. Ethically Sourced Contrition.
What if your dining table remembered the forest?
This spoken-land acknowledgment isn’t ceremonial, it’s personal, physical, and deeply inconvenient. A poem that walks barefoot through the house, naming the cost of comfort, and whispering sorry to every floorboard.
Charlene Iris
Jul 242 min read
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XVIII. Things I Don't Understand: "Up" (Part I).
There are signs that point left. Signs that point right. And then there are signs that point "Up"... Without explanation, context, or the courtesy of being metaphorical.
Charlene Iris
Jul 123 min read
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XV. Don’t Watch Our Alien Movies.
The aliens came for insight. They left clinically depressed. A darkly funny monologue on observation, spectacle, and socks with Crocs.
Charlene Iris
Jul 73 min read
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XIV. Ode to Chicken Wings.
Twelve chickens. One plate. And the haunting begins. A surprisingly spiritual dive into a late-night chicken binge.
Charlene Iris
Jul 62 min read
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V. Attached to Some Ducks.
A quiet ritual. Some winter ducks. I didn’t mean to get emotionally attached. But I did. And then they were gone.
Charlene Iris
Apr 62 min read
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IV. The Church of Self-Checkout.
A first date. A plate of fries. A spiral into the spiritual architecture of capitalism, tenderness, and credit limits.
Charlene Iris
Apr 35 min read
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Musings
Wander through the dusk-lit rooms of SomEpiphany.
A quiet archive: the tender, the tangled, the mildly ridiculous—fragments of life that insisted on being remembered.
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