She was old; not yet an elder, but long past the bloom of youth. Her hair was ragged and filthy, her face scarred by the ravages of childhood disease and a harsh life at civilization’s newly forged edge. When her lips curled back to howl out her pain, they revealed oddly angled, cracked teeth that had been used to defend as often as dine.… Read the rest “She was not beautiful.”
I have a number of things to say about the post-Weinstein era. This is the first piece.
People who are surprised by all of the #metoo’ing have been ignoring an increasingly obvious fact: somewhere along the way —by my guess, the late ‘90s or early 2000s— men began to cross a line.… Read the rest “How Men Lost the 21st Century”
My mind likes that way you giggle, that you get my jokes, that you accept my failings, and that you’re *just* slightly clever.
My heart likes that way you hold your face when you’re asleep, that feeling when I know you’re safe, that change in the air when you’re around, and that time you said that thing.… Read the rest “It isn’t complicated.”
[CONTENT NOTE: I’m thinking this one’s going to three, possibly four parts.]
Another day, another street, another step I didn’t know I’d taken.
Sara was on the phone, and had been for the full ten minutes we’d been walking. She hadn’t bothered to tell me who was calling, but I’d inferred from her half of the conversation that it was her father.… Read the rest “Chain Link (part 2)”
[CONTENT NOTE: Consider the source.]
My girlfriend had a plan.
It was the news that did it, that made her snap. She’d always been angry, defensive, and bitter, but never quite passionate. Clearly, she’d been lacking motivation.
“I can’t stand knowing that these scumbags, these men,” she said, the last word spat like venom, “are out there, just walking around, waiting for a chance to attack someone!… Read the rest “Chain Link (part 1)”
It’s always been a struggle, being the girl who needed proof.
Never accepting anyone’s assumptions, always testing the truth. The scar on your right hand, from an open flame you just had to touch; the scar on your right ventricle, from the cocaine you snorted just to see if you could stop.… Read the rest “Proof”
I want to hang out with you at 2am, when the endorphins have abandoned you and the money’s been spent. I would consider it a gift to hold your face in my hands and watch the dead thing behind your eyes reassert itself in the moonlight.
Someone recently asked if I thought she should cheat on her age-appropriate boyfriend with her much-older college professor. I decided to answer her publicly for the edification of all.
Dear Aspiring Tramp:
I seldom give advice, and when I do, it should always be assumed to come with a disclaimer indicating that I’m not an authority on jack-shit.… Read the rest “Dear Bedtime”
Good.
Not “good, I’m glad your dad was a dick,” nor “good, you’re fucking a drug addict!” I mean “good, you’ve finally reached one of those rare moments in your life when you get to make a meaningful choice.” That hate you’re feeling is there for a reason… it’s asking a question that only you can answer.… Read the rest “My dad left when I was 9 bc snorting coke was more important than his own kid. Now I’m dating a coke addict and I hate myself more and more everyday for it”
