waking up with
the desire to lay here
to look around the room
and notice things
What does a lifetime of loneliness look like, feel like in the body? Athena Dixon examines this question in her second book, The Loneliness Files, published by Tin House, and edited by one of my
The first man is the only one that kills you.
—COLETTE, La Naissance du Jour
Who is Angel? Who am I.
Have you ever loved a mirror?
Laughed, on suicide watch, until Kool-Aid spilled
Is my dick the one getting off in a peanut can?
What most people don’t know is that most of your town butchers are on some kind of pill, powder, or liquid, to get them through the day.
I have a dream, after selling this book, someone asks me what it’s about. I explain and they say, So, the narrator is still pining after Finn? They put emphasis on the word ‘still.’
Internet celebrity Melissa Broder’s third novel is what one Goodreads user accurately deemed an “existential horny cactus western.”
I
am the only man to come to Las Vegas w/an ex-gf and not fuck her—arriving two nights early on my own to hike up in
Men are tyrants with their time; but women are tyrants with the eternal.
you might smell donkey and driver if the dung laced breeze blows up your nose as my body quivers with new found knowledge of time
i make prices
i blend into aisles
i am a bottle of stool softener
I’ve always wanted someone to tell me what I want, to sell me on a life I want to live.
Wafts of ancient loam and wet wood. He had viewed it all with sickening fascination, the swiftness with which something so solid could be torn asunder, cored completely.
The summer she was without anyone
and I had just left the other girl
in Jersey City,
Molly and I kissed at her house. We were adults
who lived with our parents. She seemed like
He was too poor to erect an everlasting monument in her likeness, all he could afford were words.
I’m trying to do this story to get Kim’s feelings out there, but there seems to be a lot of secrecy and rumors about her death as if people are ashamed of how she died instead of why she died…
Literature is happening all of the time, all around us, all at once.
That was my youth: I developed a sickness, a ruinous crush on the man at the filling station
When a cherub grows up, he hates angels.
We chased the tail laid before us. Scratching and sniffing our way to pain. We took turns leaving consciousness for a few seconds.
I was driving down the freeway listening to Third Eye Blind way too loud
My friend asks if I believe in / gay marriage
I was stationed in Osh, a forty minute flight south of the capital. I had
a decent sized apartment
