I dug my hole trying to keep up with a social calendar I couldn’t afford, which is often what happens when you feel like you don’t belong on the social calendar to begin with.
If one loved in the Indian provinces, one could only love in English, with “I love you.”
Can Black writing be seen as more than a product of our death and pain?
It’s hard to say what about it is more charming to me, the hilarity of it or the inescapable Jewishness of it. Mel Brooks could be any man in my family.
Both the sandwich and I were ‘made in China’ but with an undeniable Americanness.
Christina Bartson on improvisation, shutting out fear, and trusting her movement during the pandemic.
Her anger had made its way to her music; my anger couldn’t find a home outside my own head.
Leaving my cishet marriage was hard, but it set us both free to find more satisfying relationships.
Without anywhere to talk about sex or process it, ‘Twilight’ offered an alternative space to unravel my own private desire.
When my father died in 2012, I inherited his well-read copy of Montaigne’s ‘Essais.’
But was there a better way to put these pronunciations on the page?
If poetry is an act of discovery for a writer, then even a computational poem has to uncover something new.
To these writers, saunf occurred in the world as a curiosity, but not as an inevitability.
Where I lived and grew up, the novella was never endangered.
When I look at my personal aesthetic (if I could call it that), I see something that gives me room to move through binaries.
Could I really not keep anything from the unbearable whiteness of being?
Though she lives, some part of Korra—the flame throwing hothead, insistent on taking up space—does not survive.
I couldn't afford to live on academic wages, so I became a dominatrix. But after Covid-19, the risks became too great.
