Ball sweat, BO, ass, dirty armpits, nail polish, hairspray, feet, Newports, Bugler, Jack Daniels, vodka, cupcakes, tequila, donuts, Squirt, hot Cheetos, McDonald’s wrappers, coffee left sitting out for weeks...

His dreams fill with bell towers, stabbing deaths, his lifeless body dragged by split fingernails into consciousness.

“Because of nothing we are together.”
—KA

Now, there were two biographers and a documentary filmmaker circling her fame like the moons of Planet Kathy, goddess of love and lust rising in

It was not yet this day and age. A writer sent a proposal to his literary agent. The proposal concerned a major trauma. The agent submitted the proposal to a select few editors who made it the

She began imagining what it might have been like to be Agatha, crying and disheveled with both pale breasts exposed.

Let’s get more filthy!

“I’ve asked you here tonight to tell you I’ve told my wife everything. She’s fine with it, she really is, and I want to really emphasize that. She only asks that we’re not intimate in our bed. Hers

“Streetwise, streetwise.”

February 21 – Hungover. And sometimes that’s good.

In time, the questions become increasingly diffuse, numbers jumble and disappear, the symbolic order smears.

She especially liked the phrase for whipped cream, vzbitye slivki. For such a soft, sweet thing, its name was as firm as cement. 

If I could be in The Fifth Element, I'd want to be in the scene where they pulled things out of the blue opera singer's belly. But I would want to keep pulling out new, surprising things.

In their blue jeans and Carhartt beanies, the boys are nearly as pretty as the girls who’ll never fuck them.

They buy a gram of coke and a gram of k because everyone knows that girls love drugs.

She was always looking in the mirror.

“How do you say, I am the wolf.”

“Je suis le loup. Tu es mon loup. You are my wolf.”

“Je suis le loup,” I say.

The night I met Ray Liotta I was backstage at a Kid Rock concert

True story.

You know Urmquast Meldoofi? The guy who writes the homeless features for The New York Times? Published a book not too long ago about the plight of the homeless in small urban

Augmentation, arrangements, verities, varial flips . . .

Marissa:
I try very hard to be polite and normal, like manners are weirdly important to me given I'm a huge fuckup generally but my inner world is probably a less palatable version of Helen’s 💀💀

Anna:
You’re out here trying to be a good happy girl 

Guys, you’ve got Earl fucking Palmer out here in LA. The guy played on “Tutti Frutti” for chrissakes. You don’t think he could be part of the next hot thing?

They say The Cloud is a bad metaphor for the internet because this makes it seem immaterial and like its presence doesn’t have a real physical impact on the planet. They say to remember the server

The Jessicas, a clique of girls all named, you guessed it, Jessica, were especially mean.

But how did I get it into my head, so early on, that friendship is something you’re supposed to have with only one person, and it’s supposed to be engulfing, and you’re not supposed to survive it?

Linsday Lohan smoking freely on the leather couch in the corner when she was supposed to be on house arrest at Chateau Marmont, and she came nightly, in fact, and always hugged us all at the end of the night, when she would leave to fuck our manager,

“You don’t want to be a lesbian,” she said. “Trust me. It’s a tough life.”

I could hear the cheering of the crowd, their silent plastic mouths were happy; I could taste the dirt kicked up by the elephants, smell the liquid butter sediment of cheap popcorn.