Cunt, cunt, cunt: an interview with Laura Theobald and Mikaela Grantham
Elizabeth Ellen
I think they mean they just don't like a woman going around going "cunt cunt cunt."
I think they mean they just don't like a woman going around going "cunt cunt cunt."
When I was younger, if you had a hard time following rules, you became an artist.
Now, if you have a hard time following rules, you become an entrepreneur.
People in the literary world follow rules the most.
"Honestly, I don't care if language overtakes story."
Maybe ‘white trash American girl’ is a compliment over there?
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.
Trent, and NIN, are way cooler and better. Also Trent is fucking hot.
The great thing about Betty and Rosalynn Carter working together was showing the world how to find common ground even when coming from different political stances. We could use a lot more of that right now.
June 1, 1944 – Squadron party. Real whiskey, but didn’t get too hi – just happy. Met a W.A.F. (Women Air Force) & we talked English history.
I thought Roger Waters was full of shit, I mean
"I’m always looking for ways to pay more attention. I thought maybe I could be a better writer if I knew what private investigators knew, if I could see a clue for what it was. I’m still learning."
Ironically, hours before we went to see Whoopi, I texted two friends from my bathtub that I didn’t think I would ever write another essay. It was “too hard.” “People only want to vilify you, so they look for words to use to that end, and ignore the rest of what you’ve said.”
Letterman wore khakis and the camera angled up his crotch. I watched every night or set my VCR to record on the rare occasion I left my apartment.
Kentucky is chill and for the most part, doesn't try to be something it's not. I feel that way abt myself tbh.
In these poems I am using ‘Chelsea Martin’ as a pseudonym for someone who is not Chelsea Martin.
When I stay over at Amelia’s there is a poster of Devils Tower over her bed and we trace the volcanic neck with our fingertips instead of sleeping. I give Amelia a Xanax and floss between each of her teeth.
By the time I arrived at the Phoenix airport the next summer I was thirty pounds heavier. I’d spent the previous nine months eating vending machine moonpies and packaged cookies in my dorm room.
I smile into the mirror. There is lipstick on my front teeth. I don’t rub it off.
I remember Ian saying I was not a novelist and I think, as much as it pained me at the time to hear this, he was correct.