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.

it's time I take me and my broken heart to some other country where girls would kill for me

Because Prince said sometimes it snows in April, one day it did. The snow pummeled us, then melted, then pooled on the sidewalks and in the streets, only to freeze under a full moon. The ice sealed so

The spider, god, the devil, me, Kevin Bacon, the dog… The dog, realizing she’d been referred to, thumped her tail twice somewhere in the other room …What’s the difference? What’s the distance?

I paid that dollar, mostly because I wanted an excuse to talk to him.

My older brother and I are both millwrights too. Sometimes we sit in chairs for whole shifts at a time. Sometimes we actually do some physical labor.

I’m not a fan of Roseanne, but I hope she never has to watch this.

miserable, swimming laps, aghast with vacancy

may the little coffee cup 
be blown over 
a cheap china pattern 
blue bulbs 

blooms on white 

a single cereal bowl 
from this set disperses 

and appears 
in apartment cabinets 
all over

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

Lloyd finishes reading and Rae turns to me and says, Who was that guy, did you know him? And I say, Dude, that was Lloyd. And she says, What the fuck, that was Lloyd? And I say, That was Lloyd.

I.

Lately: she looks in the mirror and pulls at her eyelashes. Gently, at first, but then harder until finally each eyelash comes off one by one with a thin line of skin attached, like when you

Dead Driving: october 29, 2023, 10:31pm

there is a feeling i recall having, that i am having now as i remember it, in my stomach every time i feared death. felt close to it. was put in its

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

mew mew

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

It is impossible to determine merely by looking how recently a modern American woman has been vaginally penetrated or rectally sodomized. One can never trust scientific data on matters such as how often a modern American woman is made love to in [enter current year].

Can you each pick two words to describe your book? 

Laura: Escapist fantasy

Eve: The first thing that came to mind for me was: “Oh, god.”

All the way up Highland isn’t Burbank, it’s heaven!

I could hear the Essex lads cooing and whispering to her, telling her that it would be okay

Her eyes looked up and zeroed in on Marina’s Muses. On the women floating through the air. No cares. Just an angel dancing in the blue heavens. 

Sheila Heti has a bad memory. She’s sitting on the stage of the Mark Taper Auditorium in the Los Angeles Central Library, wearing a velvet jumpsuit with gold tendrils and black lace tights. Heti tells

The black Mr. Sketch marker, Cucumber JUUL pods, Dr Pepper Lip Smacker, spirit duplicator, soggy sugary cereal milk mush, pink rubber pencil shavings, burning toast stroke, pumpkin spice scented hand sanitizer. 

That cicatrice ringing the heart, like notches on the prison wall, that sharp sweet spoor.