Monthly Archives: July 2010
We forget that history recycles. That theocracies exist in the modern world in places where the exchange of free ideas used to be encouraged. Progress doesn’t move uninterruptedly forward. Modern Evangelicals have much in common with the Victorians. In every country, there are always thugs … Read more
We would swim at night. Tequila and our clothes on the wall behind us as the rope swing blurred the sea and the sky until all the pricks of light became indecipherable, and we did not know which were the stars and which the reflections. … Read more
“Well, you know, I’m not a real lesbian,” she says. “Real lesbians hate onions, and gush about Mary-Louise Parker. I mean, look at me, I have straight face.”
I look at her.
“And I have to tell people I’m queer. I have to convince them.”… Read more
The man is described, during a dinner party, as someone who has a problem with consent. When this is said, I have trouble getting my food down. A problem with consent? That may be the most appalling description I can imagine. This reminds me of … Read more
One of the funniest questions I have ever been asked, dressed in a tiny hospital gown as the nurses induced me for labor, having just had a stranger’s fingers in my vagina for the second time that hour, went something like this, “Where would you … Read more
Convince me. Say it again. Again. I want to believe. Lovable. I want to believe. Moody, and nothing more severe. Not breakable. Not fragile. Vulnerable and willful, and worth all of it. Please. Say it again.
When the floor opens. When the monsters call to … Read more
You can start in the middle. After the initial madness, the intensity that singes your skin, the way sleep and food seem unnecessary, after that, you can start in the middle. With a complementary agenda, and a strange intuition and ease, as though there were … Read more
I have no memory of being armed with water pistols on camping trips. Nevertheless, the kid has two loaded guns in his pack, and delivers head shots to all of us. We work on skipping rocks from the dock. He prefers launching handfuls.
I tell … Read more
She tells stories from her work the same way my father did. Without names, without specifics. Usually just a single image, because she’s haunted by it, because it wounds her.
“He slept with her hair wrapped around his hand, so he’d know if she moved … Read more
Even Elliott Smith can’t save this day. I walk downtown to meet my buddy for drinks. It’s seven p.m., on a Tuesday, and we sit at a table next to the garage-style rolled door. Watch the same chick meander up and down the block, twitching, … Read more