Anna Gát: Eleven Sentence Essays

Anna Gát
I think, write and run Interintellect Twitter @theannagat @interintellect_
Created 04 Dec 2019
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  • On Winning
    23 Oct 2021 • < 1 min read
    When people tell me that I’m winning, I’ve usually just woken up, sitting in a curved ball on my sofa, in my plush grey bathrobe, drinking coffee. I see my life as a sequence of truces—I try things, f...
  • On Dreams
    11 Oct 2021 • 1 min read
    Remember your lockdown dreams? We were said to produce great fables stuck inside dialled-down cities, after all the germ-killers were gone on the websites and we found the stores were ransacked; we co...
  • On Not Knowing
    10 Oct 2021 • 1 min read
    In my industry we like to joke that no one knows anything, that the world is a surprising place that must—oh, well—surprise. But as one gets older and prouder, it becomes more and more of a taboo to s...
  • On Simplicity
    10 Oct 2021 • < 1 min read
    I took off all my makeup after one abrupt night out, sat down on my carpet cross-legged, waiting. There are ways to calm one’s hot mind, some more helpful than others, I keep reeling for the clearest ...
  • On Stasis
    06 Oct 2021 • 1 min read
    Be one of those people who refuse to give up, who say they’ll lie down only in rigor mortis. Things slow down as they age, and maybe your mind has fallen quiet, I get that fateful feeling of the snugl...
  • On Auditioning for Human
    04 Oct 2021 • < 1 min read
    I learned from books and movies how to love—the lessons would have been shouts and tears at home. Now I’ll speak to all, I speak to one, I listen. One unrolls one’s heart for crowds or folds it in rea...
  • On Being Free
    03 Oct 2021 • 1 min read
    Some people think it takes confidence to become free, but that’s not true; it’s when stepping through the doors that one grows a spine. It gets lonely out there, you might opine, the old tribes left f...
  • On Love
    02 Oct 2021 • 1 min read
    It’s a strange thing to realise that one grows up to be more childlike, not less; I have memories of being more bitter, less hopeful than now. When I was young I was ready to suffer, and imagined all ...
  • On Power
    02 Oct 2021 • 1 min read
    I peep through an opening, standing behind the wall-hanging, it’s red and orange, heavy felt, some type of macramé, it runs across the side of the upstairs lobby from ceiling to floor, and smells of y...
  • On Strangers
    24 Aug 2021 • < 1 min read
    Amos Oz writes love is in the fingers. We read the Braille of others until we see. Surprise is palms remembering, recognition a rise in temperature; it’s a wide open question what in a new place one m...
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