Posting feels sacrificial. Like giving something away. It’s an act of vulnerability, isn’t it? Sending something personal out into the unknown, with the possibility someone might see it, relate, make contact.
While the lamb is roasting, I go to the bathroom and cut off some of my hair with the kitchen scissors.
It was the summer of 1977. Son of Sam was stalking young couples.
It’s evening already / and the vibes are so off / it isn’t even funny.
The nurse added that she hoped she had thwarted another outbreak of STDs, unlike their nursing home competitor in town.
The unknown boy, that uninvited new friend, showed his freckled face, sang a cumbia with us, and drank from our glass. He became light in a blink.
Days of Vagrant Youth
We sit around drinking poison
that’ll give half of us
cancer
and the other, madness,
mistaking ill euphoria for
wisdom of the moment.
We’re
Love is like a museum. You have to look around, experience things, and then leave.
"I loved reading Exit, Carefully. It’s unusual, and in my opinion exciting, to publish a play without previously receiving a major production."
-Walker Caplan, Lithub
Garielle's longest, most peculiar, most particularized book. A sure-to-be collector's item. Delivery 4-6 weeks!
