four times in one day
just because that
ending was fucking
sublime and i cried
the whole way thru
the bit where... more
Some days, Luke told me it hurt to sit down. Those days we played in the woods.
We took tarps and string from the shed to make tents... more
Like so many gays around the world, I remember exactly where I was when Lorde dropped “Green Light”, the first song from her 2017 instant classic Melodrama. I was in my car, on my way to work. But that’s not really all of it.
Everything that could have possibly budged already had, anything neglectable was long ago done so.
The guy on the podcast had cancer, he was dying –every day he was dying a little bit more – and he was reflecting on being a literary agent.
My writing professor said to me that in order to get better, you had to dismantle the person you were, because that person was killing you. I kept wondering: Why did a killer love me?
Mama was a truck. A Ford Bronco, to be exact.
Bill looked like a hundred people I’d taken rides from: flannel shirt, sunburned, open-air Jeep, someone resigned enough to take on a hitchhiker and think, if you pull a knife on me in the next mile, I can live with that.
even when I’m sure it’s polyester, and the silk is one more kiss you trail across my body and say,
I attribute my apostasy to Michael Jackson’s HIStory
"Six fine fish in that dirty pond! They're gonna die there anyway!" he told me. "They're gonna suffocate on all that mud."
My trip had begun in Seattle, where the past few years had served up one setback after the next. I had been cut loose by my latest not-quite-boyfriend.
Twenty seven notes Gabriel Smith took at Bethnal Bust Up, York Hall, London, March 7th
If boxing is a sport, then it is the most... more
She said: in my home, I want to feel at home. I want to feel as though I am swaddled in blanket, as though the walls pump food right to my gut. I water the plants, all seven or eight, some dying. I feed the cat
You don’t see her for several years after that, minus a brief and sweet span of days that following summer, in your usual place. You play Bob Dylan’s Mama, You Been on My Mind squeezed on a piano bench with her.
The first time I met Courtney, she told me she loved my ballet flats. We were wearing the same $14.99 shoes. She hated her curly hair and middle name and Democrats.
and two... more
All my friends refer to my housemates as “the LCs,” short for the Lapsed Christians, because Bridget and Jeff met in Minnesota at some evangelist college where they started fucking and eventually got expelled. My friends find them fascinating.
Your gym is perhaps your favorite thing about Hattiesburg. Your student budget is tight, but you’ll manage to eek out thirty a month somehow—you have for the last three years.
The day before isolation, I celebrate my birthday, unwed, the first of its kind in my adult life, my divorce from a great... more
I’d spend the night there on Saturday nights, get up Sunday morning and drive to my church and preach. I didn’t find God because I wasn’t looking for him. I was looking for me but I didn’t find him either.
