(The baptism.)
The first time I had sex
my hymen didn’t break
and you missed your bus
We wrote Mary Karr on
the margin of my arm
in pen
I washed around her
then let you lick
The president lands to a reception line & it’s all already campaigning again always. The president lands & I already took a shit this morning.
In this piece, the sculptor will sculpt herself sculpting.
This album feels like rain; like those moments when you are half asleep in bed reviewing the day.
The bank took the car but they didn't take my legs, so this morning I stole the neighbor kid's bike and pedaled into town.
Welcome to Hobart Photo Stories, a one stop shop for photos that will excite the brain, the eye and the heart (bonus points to the photo nerd who knows that quote!).
Nathan Pearce is our
Enemas blastin!
Lying next to her, I wrote the last chapter of the Bible and surrounded our bed with Doritos.
First of all I want to thank you for accepting my friend request. Out of all our graduating class of 1992, you were the only one to do so.
I lift my knees to walk in flippers, grab a glass of water in the kitchen before high-stepping my way back to the living room where Joe and I have dinner in front of the television.
New Miserable Experience
Gin Blossoms
Label: A&M
Released: August 4th, 1992
Length: 45:02
When I think about being a kid, it feels like thumbing through a wet notebook. Not a
It’s getting harder and harder to shave my pussy, let alone the tight star of my asshole.
I was a mess at every sunrise. The door winked at me, the comb was losing teeth.
1.
I cut through the small park. Come out the other side. As soon as I do I feel eyes on me. I look up from the sidewalk. He's standing down the block and on the other side of the busy cross
The term “unreliable narrator” was first coined in 1961 by the critic Wayne C. Booth, and since then it has become one of fiction’s most recognizable elements. While initially viewed as something
Let’s create fake accounts and try to seduce each other.
I used to part masses. To wade through throngs of children cheering. Boogie would press play on the cassette, and I’d come through the crowd instead of take the aisle. I’d roll on the trampoline and stand above a field of pumping fists.
You would be forgiven for thinking Vegas is not the place for you.
I call that year my wandering year or my train station year or my year of the lucky rat year. It was 1996 and I was pregnant with my first child, Boris––born with a strong heart, Boris.
