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Off with Her Head

by Fredda Jaffe

Sometimes it seems we’re living in an annotated Alice in Wonderland if you’ve ever lived in a time like no other time you’ll get what I’m getting at, albeit one tapeworm length run-on sentence which morphs into a tangle of knots and utterances, this year’s tower of Babble or Babel or Bobble, seven on a scale of zero to ten, flattening a cracked curve, tilting paradigm leaking oil from its underside while the hatter puffs on his hookah and the caterpillar descends into psychosis which emphasizes the recommendation your family avoid old fangled thermometers, simply place your right palm against the forehead of the person closest to you and convince yourself it resembles the universal icon for I come in peace.

Fredda Jaffe waters plants, experiments with writing and comics, works remotely as a family therapist and wears a mask in Seattle. 

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