hare

This piece was originally written for and performed at Write Club Atlanta on March 11, 2020. Fuck, I have to do this fast. I couldn’t find a seat near an outlet at this coffee shop, and my laptop is super old and I can’t charge it, so there’s no telling if I have even an … Continue reading hare

but in dreams/i can hear your name, or: kind of a story about lemon cake

5 From this hour I ordain myself loos’d of limits and imaginary lines (Guys, fuck: is this my book?! In which a pretentious cream puff works their way through Whitman's collected works? Fuck. ... Would you buy it?) Alright. Let's do this again: Fuck, guys. This needs to be it for a while. I need … Continue reading but in dreams/i can hear your name, or: kind of a story about lemon cake

the suggestion of flannel, or: snapshot of a maybe-lesbian

Today a woman in a bow tie touched me on the arm as she walked past me, and I was thrilled, because I wondered, "Oh, snap. Does she know?" And thought secondarily: "WHAT A FUCKING RELIEF." Here is the evidence. Myself, me, February 2, 2020: An inventory. (Sorry in advance, Shakespeare.) Item: One head of … Continue reading the suggestion of flannel, or: snapshot of a maybe-lesbian