They Called Him a Monster
Jennifer Ostopovich
The idea that mental illness can be effectively managed with drugs is a relatively new one
The idea that mental illness can be effectively managed with drugs is a relatively new one
She said she was mad because I portrayed her as a vaguely inconvenient antagonist side character.
Because I am toxic and codependent
Because I am not good for Bruce.
[The names of certain parties have been changed. Other names were never known and are now lost in time.]
I get maudlin and nostalgic over the Christmas holidays, mostly for a past version of
It was day three of the Democratic National Convention and day 19 of my short tenure as a Chicago resident. I had the day off work, and nothing to do but get on my Hunter S. Thompson shit and poke my nose around the old DNC to do some gonzo journalism.
You will never truly know Valerie, because you will never find my son, nor hopefully want to after his trite art project that is endangering us all is laid to rest by what follows.
When I told one of my professors that in my lunch hour, I’d met with a writer named Elizabeth Wurtzel, the old man rolled his eyes:
“That book was such garbage. She tried to write a second book, and a third, but they flopped.”
Imagine what happens inside gated communities behind closed doors, even in homes owned by a retired cop and special education teacher! I had nothing but my body and when I used it, I was called a devious animal.
It is a widely known fact that Arledge created Monday Night Football in conjunction with the American Suicide Watch as a way to stymie a flood of Monday night suicides.
I hook up with a nineteen year old at my big age. Driving over, I tell myself: act doting, let him initiate everything, he’s topping anyways, he has the power, you could pass for being two years
The only clothing I wore was an adult diaper to which almost every older male crew member made a comment.
“When the president says your name in anger, the shit has hit the fan.”
—Ice-T
How I angled myself. How I smoke inside. How things leave impressions.
“I used to buy cigarettes here,” I inform him. I give bite-sized details about myself like this.
I knew my assumption was flawed. Not all heterosexual fucking was violence.
Sitting there and watching them I unexpectedly got the radiance. My body felt light as a flower, my breathing itself gave me great pleasure and my hair seemed to fly up and outward like wispy silk. I smiled and then laughed. Peter and Melita looked up and laughed also. Such musical sounds. Little bells.