In 1902, he finally cut off his own penis with a small knife that he'd managed to smuggle into his cell.

Video surveillance is for your safety 

I lost my thought and now I can't do anything but listen 

Writing is only anything if you can sublimate or depreciate the original thing into a

They say you shouldn’t feed the trolls, but trolls are an essential component of the culture.

I think sometimes what people mean by “likable” as opposed to sympathetic or goodhearted is “conforming to my idea of what behavior I should aspire to.”

It should be noted that I really love to eat pussy.

I think outside of drinking himself to death, Fitzgerald had a pretty fantastic life.

The best futures are the ones that never come.

I just told you about the time I met Burt Reynolds.

You: I can't live in a world where seventy-five percent of anything is perfect.

Maybe I was smoking all wrong, but it appeared that I needed another smoke.

Bird heart

I was hiking the canyons alone when a mountain lion appeared on the path in front of me. Needless to say I was surprised. I had never seen a mountain lion in the wild before, so you

When Tyler and I first got together, we didn’t know that they were trans. But now we do, and so does the rest of the world. And the rest of the world has mixed feelings about it. “I kinda felt like I

Non-Fiction Book Submission--Caldwell

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Chloe Caldwell <cocomonet@gmail.com>





Mar 14, 2011,

He finally died in midsummer 
when it was hot as hell.

I’m somewhat like that, but more of a junkballer, a term better known for baseball pitchers: someone who gets by with unexpected spins and slices and wiliness due to a deficit of conventional talent.

miserable, swimming laps, aghast with vacancy

Moloch Eternal [1969 version}

we see an instant reply
of brains blasted at arm’s length

we gawk in color amazement
at monks posing as scarecrows
dressed in silken robes of flame

we turn

In a spacious room at the midtown hotel where the inimitable Tennessee Williams died, congregated a small but lively salon of authors and storytellers.

She was a kid, he reasoned. She’d grow out of her ridiculous ideology. It wasn’t worth a confrontation.

Kate Axelrod’s new book of stories, How to Get Along Without Me, is, to quote the jacket copy, “a collection that summons the perversity and poignance of twentysomething dating lives from a bracingly