none of our secrets are physical

the only stable interaction i've had with a human boy has been sans direct communication. none have ever left me bitter or sadistic. there's never a first time, nor a last for anything. but the sight of each other itself is like an earthquake. like when s showed me his chipped teeth the day he sat right across from me at carillo. or when j biked past me in the rain and acknowledged my presence with his un-open lips. each of these moments were like reading a book with no end.

sweet piss

when i woke up today it was still raining from the night before. and when i looked outside while discovering the story of tom and summer it was gloomy. but i learned, rather quickly, that to look back you've to force yourself to see it all. that way, i would realize what a big mistake i'd made by bending down to look at the pebbles in the shallow water. and i felt silly that i'd not known summer had already become autumn while i was scraping pond rocks from my boots. by 4pm, the sky had cleared for the sun to shine for an hour until it would set.

candids from lauren elaine's gathering

i took one and squashed it in my pocket. then i got another one and ate it - will develop the squirts from this processed food item.

birdman

The day we said goodbye wasn’t the time I saw you biking with your surfboard on your block. I think it was that time I biked home from the library at midnight in 30 degree weather. I had forgotten the route I’d taken a thousand times and ended up by the beaming lights. It wasn’t the ocean wind that blew me away. I think it was realizing that because our language is tacit, we’d know each other long after we’d part. Like a song that circles the island after the crowd's gone home, you're the silver lining of every ___ tale.

sweetpea

Although I was fully clothed, I felt as naked as a child, waking up in the morning to a beginning of a different kind. Suddenly surprised by a beautiful song about the inevitable ending written for the likes of girls such as myself, I was in the midst of living out another fantasy. The song wasn’t for me or even for impressing me, but for just another body to acknowledge it was being played. I did not want to feed into the burden of want, where someone else would hold all the tickets.

The strings sounded like they would give out when the sun would finally be ready to touch my skin. The lack of shade from the windows gave me the feeling of struggling to live somewhere between the forgotten moon and the fragile morning light.

arsenic and old lace

the story of romanian serial killer vera renczi goes something like this. vera fell in love and married men at various times in her life. each would disappear from sight after she suspected they were about to leave her. but she was actually poisoning them with arsenic and putting their bodies in coffins stored in her wine cellar. there were 32 of them in total. at times, she would sit in the cellar to pense, surrounded by all her lovers.

some may say vera was an artist. whitley strieber wrote a vampire-themed back loosely based on her. and she inspired the playwright joseph kesselring to write arsenic and old lace.

if you're sad, and like beer, i'm your lady

isabella is a cancer. who knew