Tag Archives: writing

When I was a little girl, maybe no more than five or six, I woke up in the morning with a spiderbite on one hip. Red and angry and wild, it flared to the size of my palm, disturbed by … Continue reading →

There’s a kind of perfection in the strain on the body when its tied to the bedposts, fucked mercilessly until wrists are raw and breaths are ragged. There’s a stinging bliss in the red lines licked across pale skin by … Continue reading →

And the streetlight visible outside my window is flickering. On again off again. A blinking eye. Noises from the world have invaded my unconsciousness. I have heard rain for seven days and seven nights, now, always washing down from the … Continue reading →

And the streetlight visible outside my window is flickering. On again off again. A blinking eye. Noises from the world have invaded my unconsciousness. I have heard rain for seven days and seven nights, now, always washing down from the … Continue reading →

Sometimes I’m certain that patterns within patterns within patterns are the puzzle, and the puzzle’s solution. We’re spheres within spheres, made of spheres. Everything comes down to angle and trajectory while we spiral, accelerating either away from our beginning– flashBANG … Continue reading →