Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the beauty of people around me. I mean, sure. Aesthetically pleasing. But this, this is a different kind of beauty. The beauty of shadows and light. Complex expressions on the edge of sight. The way he bends. The way she turns her head. The way they smile, sleepily, curled up… Continue reading Fragments
Tag: non-fiction
How You Sleep
Tell me how you sleep. I want to know the fleeting thoughts in the final seconds of consciousness that lull you toward dreams. Do you remember your dreams and if so, are they in full color? Do they start fresh every night or recur over and over like a well-loved movie? Do they tell you… Continue reading How You Sleep
The Taste of Fur and Honeyed Mead
“Timid.” I roll the word around on my tongue, trying to grasp at the sensation. “It’s got such a strange texture.” I’m curled up on his chest, his arms around me as I explore the shape and texture of language in my mouth and soak in these dwindling moments before he has to leave. I… Continue reading The Taste of Fur and Honeyed Mead
You Wanted Hard
“What do you want?” he asked, softly, the words tactile as his breath caresses my ear. I want to put in a butt plug and use you as a fuck toy while I jack myself off, I think. I want you to tie me in double futos and fuck me until I can’t think straight, or at… Continue reading You Wanted Hard
Open Your Eyes
I force my eyes open. They are standing over me and I drink in the curves of their face, their hair cascading down their back and haphazardly draping forward over their shoulder, one hand between my legs, the other wrapped, momentarily, around my throat. I've seen that look before, a slow spreading joy, drinking in… Continue reading Open Your Eyes
Ceramic Moments
CW: references to addiction and drug use Leaning up against the car, the damp scent of new dawn permeating the air. I close my eyes, grasping a cup of coffee and remembering mornings in gas station parking lots, the condensation of my breath mixed with smoke, the shape of a styrofoam cup, the scent of… Continue reading Ceramic Moments
This is Where the Notebooks Go
Today I sat on my floor and looked around at the overwhelmingness of my living room and panicked. Dishes on the coffee table that were at least 5 days (if not a week) old, so old the fruit flies had either finally lost interest or drowned in their hunt for fermented mimosa. Most of… Continue reading This is Where the Notebooks Go
Thunder and Yearning: Thoughts on the passing of Leslie Feinberg
I remember the first time I ever read Stone Butch Blues. I was nine years old, full of awkward self-consciousness, and preferred the company of books to the company of other children. I was reading far beyond my reading level and liked to swipe my parents’ books from the bookshelf because the books aimed at… Continue reading Thunder and Yearning: Thoughts on the passing of Leslie Feinberg
Monomaniacism 