Sometimes we’d see a slip of moon hung in velvety sky, and we’d find ourselves crying for no good reason, or maybe every reason that we could think of.
Bullock & Allan, Garret & Twain, Star & Paisley, Swearengen & Brooks, Tolliver & Dunn
A Portrait Series Paralleling Characters in HBO’s Deadwood with Contemporaneous Pop Country Musician
I was halfway to the Drew Barrymore/Gwen Stefani hybrid image of my dreams; a few more years, I thought, and I’ll work at the Coffee Beanery at the mall.
One Night We Drove Through Yellowstone
I dreamt of a white bear last night,
like the ones in the rainforests
of Alaska. Landlocked, we dreamt
of whispering to them, shaking off
one
The man I love who does not love me back sends me someone else’s tweet. The only text is a hashtag: Notre Dame. The video hasn’t loaded. A week before, the Notre Dame women’s basketball team made it
If you were to sit down and watch an American beer commercial and then a Canadian one, they wouldn't be that different. Replace the eagle with a beaver.
We know who has her period and who is still waiting. If a girl takes her backpack to the bathroom or sits pool-side in swim class, she has her period. So do the girls who—when they ask Can I go to the bathroom? and the teacher says, No—say But I really need to go.
I only get twenty bucks that day. Trevor tells me to call him next week. He'll have some more work for me. But I never see him again. Or even hear his voice. I lose him number. Greaseback is never around. And then the phone gets cut off. I'm back to where I started.
Smart girls don’t tempt the devil. I was a bullseye, a bloody Rorschach blot, walking into the prison flaunting my muleta.
Trent, and NIN, are way cooler and better. Also Trent is fucking hot.
the child inside of me
has become comfortable
with the heat of the months
as they melt down
like hot wax then build one
on top of the other
into a mountain
in silence
has started to
King of the Road
naked as death
begging on the highway
I calibrate the instrument
of my breastplate to lead me
back to you
I never once saw a dog chase a bone
but I never knew a dog that
Welcome to Hobart Photo Stories, a one stop shop for photos that will excite the brain, the eye and the heart.
—Tara Wray, photo editor
"In the home that my grandparents have
I was aware, somehow, that people tended to get intense feelings about the bands they loved and that music had Mystery, capital M. But my family was not intense. We were American cheese on Wonder Bread.
I often confuse the dead horses
for trees. I say things like termites
care about the weather, or dark stars
will always find their way to empty
rooms. Anyway, the dead horses are real,
About earlier, he had started to say —
— is that all you can think about, your duck?
We’re in line for beer and a guy in a Yankees hat turns to Tim, looks him up and down in his BoSoxery, and asks if he can buy his beers for half-price on our badge.
“Only if you say the Yankees suck,” Tim says.
What I do know: Janet Wellington made eye contact with me in the YMCA pool. I also never had a chance to look my mother in the eye and say goodbye.
Carrot Flowers
We are toward somewhere in the first sentence. There is June & us or us or June because that’s what’s left of it. I walk like a walk with a walk on the table. The walk is finding
On a cold and rainy Sunday afternoon when I didn’t want to walk outside: a box proclaiming to be synthetic urine for sale in Nirvana, next to Louie’s Tux Shop and across from C.J. Banks in the Muncie Mall, behind the counter where they sell glass pipes blown to resemble tiny carrots and octopi, next to a rack of Rasta wigs.
Neck Tattoo
Your neck tattoo spoke to me but I needed a
translator. Needed a nail gun, a barn wall to
respond to your forward advances. After a
night together, I woke to find that your
I turn 30 next month but I’m no longer afraid because I read somewhere that time is an illusion. I am purchasing an anti-aging moisturizer, just in case. It’s expensive, but money is no object. I’m worth four figures.
I was looking forward to ruining my chances of being able to run or march anywhere.
More than most players, examining Guerrero's life feels like voyeurism, or like wandering hospital corridors with your head on a swivel. When he was good, he was, as James suggested, astonishingly good... But his bad times were difficult to watch, and lacked the privacy that we'd all hope would greet our worst moments.
