-
Untitled, September 4 2015
This has been a trying week, with a lot of scary things happening close to home and around the world. I’ve been simultaneously trying to wrap my head around it all and to pretend that I don’t see the ugliness, and I keep coming back to this one thing that I simply cannot understand. With…
-
The Latest Book
For those of you who are interested in such things, here’s the new book: a collection of some of my most controversial work, including “A Love Letter to Pat Robertson” and “Mother Whore and the Monsters on the Hill.” As always, thank you for your constant support. I appreciate you all more than I can…
-
Prom Queen [Not Autobiographical]
I never could have been the prom queen, perfect hair and teeth and nails, smiling sweetly for the cameras humble under my sash and crown and waiting for the crowd to blink and offer up the chance to pull the flask out from between my legs beneath the satin curtain of my dress. I was…
-
Lost Dogs
This feels empty as if the dogs have all gone home and left us to our own devices, on our own to deal with the monsters and the maniacs hiding in the shadows and even with the lights all on, the television blaring comedy and news into our deconstructed brains, there is a silence and…
-
Pieces.
More things that make me happy, because I don’t have the words to tell you.
-
Written
And in this sorrow, we create ourselves: faces sketched in dull graphite, erased and drawn again until the lines are blurred and the edges of our eyes are indistinct and the creases of our mouths are parentheses, capturing all the things we never said. In this sorrow, we are written indelible and clear we are…
-
On Being Open-Minded, and the Freedom of Belief
Your right to believe in something does not negate others’ right to exist with the same rights and standard of living that you have.
-
Scribble.
And in the middle of this, there are lines drawn in chewed-paper crayons and apple-red lipstick, in pencils with metal eraser bands sharpened and cruel, in the sand on the sidewalk outside a long-outgrown day care’s fenced playground with a stick, dragged behind carelessly In the cracks of the mirrors, the anger-creased palms, the wrinkles…
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
April Fox 