July 17, 2017 | Nonfiction
The summer I dated a painter I did not love, I modeled sometimes for a retired professor's drawing class.
I was still in diapers when American Fool was released, so by the time I made my way to Indiana for college, it was already a classic. And it’s not until you live in Indiana—in small-town Indiana—that you feel Johnny Cougar Mellencamp in your veins.
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.
Anita Ho Tong
She had gorgeous hair, long and dark -- I like to wrap it around my neck after we make love and fall asleep like that.
We were there to see Belgian metal band Oathbreaker. And I bought a Khemmis shirt, in part because theirs was one of the best, most metal, riffiest sets I’ve ever seen and in part because their shirts were the kinds of all wizards and skulls that you want in a metal shirt. But it was Jaye Jayle I found most hypnotic.
The book reveals as much about the reader’s psyche, about the self and the readers’ reaction to reading it, as it does about the author— this deeply personal thing, a dream, so full of symbols we imbue with our own shared and cultural meanings.