MM) When I met you, you had already been writing voluminously, though none of it was shared. Ruthless Little Things was born before you were even A-list. Tell me about how/why you used to write, and what made you start sharing your work?
EVA) You’re a writer, you just write! I don’t know why.
Thomas Moore's new novel Alone was released early last June by Amphetamine Sulphate, as if surfacing from the suffocating confines wrought by Covid-19. These conditions, as if simultaneously emblematic of deeper societal ills and limitations, brought with its birth a sense of perennial resilience. This book was an emergency. Not one defined by talking heads or the World Health Organization, but necessitated and heralded by the renegade spirit of a living movement of artists and iconoclasts.
One morning, Tuesday gets up, takes a shower, and then nearly passes out on the tiles because he realizes that his head is baby soft while he’s conditioning. It doesn’t hurt so much as it confuses and worries him because his head is supposed to be fucking hard as a rock and it isn’t and that is strange.
He calls his doctor, his goddamn doctor, seriously, that was his first mistake,