lady sits at a wooden table warped from rain, half-rotted. cards spread, she tries to know your mind she tries to know hers everything feels a little less rosy at summer’s end, i feel so much older, now and the mirror is silent and there’s an all day ache and there’s a choice to make, make, make
hold it out in your hand, light and round as an apple, proof. poison-blood-red, the skin cuts sharp between teeth and gums; the flesh, as white and crisp as snow.
her tongue burns. she is a witch she is a queen she is a little girl there is an all day ache, there is an apple.
To fall for a million years like a flute falls, musically, played by the air it is passing through. And to land with no mind, but with a heart that was breaking.
Making Love in 2003
For how long can you behold another person? Before you have to think of yourself again, like dipping the brush back in for more ink.
Ten True Things
Friday night was date night, named for the date Sarah and Tom would go on while Lyon slept over at my house. But because they usually stayed home and fought, and Lyon and I more often went to dinner and saw a movie, date night became our code for Night of Endless Fun. Don’t underestimate how much joy an eight-year-old and an almost-forty-year-old can bring each other. We usually began at Miso Happy, our favorite Japanese place. We thought the name was terrible, but we liked the noodles. We talked about everything, including but not limited to: My gray hairs, should I dye them? Could I dye them individually? Could I pay a mouse with a tiny paintbrush to jump on my head and dye them one by one? And why did Tom and Sarah have to fight so much? Was it Lyon’s fault? No, absolutely not. Could she stop them from fighting? Again, no. Also: would they buy her a twenty-four-color pen set, and, if they did, how jealous would best friend Claire be when Lyon brought it to school? Our guess was very. And why had Deb’s last boyfriend dumped her?
I dumped him.
Maybe you didn’t French-kiss him enough.
I promise you that wasn’t it.
Tell me how many times a day you kissed, and I’ll say if it was enough.
You will find someone who loves your wildness, your pain, your past, your ugliness, your flaws, all of it. If you stay vulnerable, if you keep telling the truth about who you are without fear, you will find someone who’s trustworthy enough and strong enough to leap into the unknown with you. You will find someone who isn’t afraid. Forgive this poor guy. He is very fucking afraid.
Girls would be wild, instead of quiet and modest, and no one would want to marry them. The family would be destroyed. Men would become weak and effeminate. They wrote editorials fretting that cross dressing by women would cause social and moral chaos, ranting that that the differences between the sexes “would be obliterated.”
Just found out last night that one of my stories, “Bone and Arid Flesh,” is going to be published in the Summer 2014 issue over at Quantum Fairy Tales. The story is a retelling of The Sun, the Moon, and Talia, Sleeping Beauty as told by Giammbatista Basile in 1630. It’ll be up later tonight, and of course I’ll link to it, probably in a post with a lot of exclamation points.
If you’re interested in meeting the people behind QFT, they’re here with all their glorious aliases.
Potholes, sinkholes and sewer grates: It is widely believed that hell is actually located beneath the streets of New York City. In most cities potholes are just little bumps in the road. In New York they are gaping holes with no bottom in sight (technically, these are called sinkholes). Wheels, bikes, and bicyclists have been lost to the world below. In the summer, bike-sinks spring up randomly overnight. Please report dangerous potholes and sinkholes to 311 immediately and save a fellow cyclist.