Prose, Poetry, and Art since 1956
“The girls grew up too fast, painted their eyes with glitter on Halloween and vanished under black cloaks and lace stockings, hiding their long faces and broken cherries from the boys sleeping in shadows outside Mr. Pink’s Deli, the lingerie shop on Seventh Avenue, their front step once their daddies turned the light out.”
You refuse to go to your doctor for months. You and your partner treat this like most projects, with enthusiasm that can only be dampened by people in authority. Because it’s about the body, you embrace disassociation– treating your guts like a meteor suspended in the rafters of your garage…
“I went to my first wedding at twenty-one. A former best friend was getting married to her high school sweetheart. I was dreading it…”
Me and my friends, we get it. We get it all and we hate it. We’re not dumb and we’re not naïve. We’re the neo avant garde of fed-up punching bags in Small Town, Nowhere…
A house on Oak Street burned down. We took many photos of it going up in flames at lunchtime, and it was only later, after posting the photos online for comments from friends and strangers that we found out it was a murder-suicide…