The weekend is over, but the Rumpus features remain.
Another installation of Yumi and Everyone We Know about fire tigers (they only burn you alive if you forget to offer them candy).
And a Sunday Rumpus essay called “On Color, Brain Cancer, and the Possibility That I Am Already Dead,” about, well, color, brain cancer, and the possibility that we are already dead:
Now, though, I am forced to this appalling conclusion. It’s all becomes a bad movie, and I am the child star. Further, who’s to say that my entire victimization wasn’t as seemingly transient, fickle, and amorphous as my lost for the color green?