I wanted to see Akari and have a drink so we could get a little drunk and maybe take our clothes off.
The trees all richly clad, yet devoid of pride, fat with birds and the season, have called back days and years for the history they are giving me.
What I like most about the story is that the grossness makes way for the sadness.
Now Dad would have to drive us to Mom’s in the shit-mobile, which probably wouldn’t start even if he could get the car doors open. Cows were standing pinned between the car and the wall and the doors had been frozen shut since the storm even without all the extra ice and frozen manure. Dad had tried pouring boiling water over the handles days ago, but the doors only worked while the handle was still too hot then froze solid again, worse than before.
He could kill me right now. I’m rail-thin, depression rotting the muscle off me since I got here. He’s big and strong and calls himself Faheem.
Grodstein is the author of four previous books, including the New York Times bestseller A Friend of the Family and the Washington Post Book of the Year The Explanation for Everything. She was kind enough to answer some of my questions regarding OUR SHORT HISTORY, out now from Algonquin Books.
There are meetings in places that come disguised as something else.
Honoring AV Club's restraining order against me from this day forward
Dear Editor, or Owl
Attached are poems in which I spin my head three hundred sixty degrees attempting to stare at myself. Attached are poems in which I attempt to eat myself
Shane said I needed to be more social, network with the other teachers. I told him it was pointless.
“I look forward to the time when I shall refuse to learn another thing, having accumulated errors enough.” Charles Fort
He can’t respond to the man addressing him as Mr. Sport because he can’t talk, his tongue has been mangled, somewhat ineptly, and he sees the hilarity in this, being tortured by inept torturers, as another larger silent gentleman’s behind him, but if it weren’t him in the chair, if it were someone else and he was watching, he might be amused by these two dilettantes practicing the art of torture.
It's the middle of winter. My last submission was rejected with good cause. It went a little off the deep end.
Congratulations! Your employer is an open-minded, inclusive institution that has discovered a method to ensure the comfort of their gender non-conforming employees, and that method is buttons.
From the Muddy Banks of the Wishkah
Nirvana
Label: DGC
Released: October 1st, 1996
Length: 17 songs, 54 minutes
Last time I saw you, a good foot separated the two of us. Walked up
I want to be a zygote again. / I want to be a dumb plant.
The woman sat on the train wrapped tightly in her coat. She stared at herself in the window and eyed the other passengers.
My therapist’s name was Sean. I remember that most of all because it was easy for me to say. The sound sh never caused trouble. I could curse or tell people to shut up all day long. But es caused a world of trouble.
When clearly it could be a mommy or even a child for that matter.
I remember Ian saying I was not a novelist and I think, as much as it pained me at the time to hear this, he was correct.
