Essays
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Animal Rescue
The morning I found Gaspard and Vincent, I had just visited the punk house where the ex boyfriend had been staying. He had some things of mine that I couldn’t let him keep . . .
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Voices on Addiction: Anchor Point
At first, sobriety feels at once like a death of a best friend, loss of comfort, and a beloved version of one’s self. On some level, it is exactly these things . . .
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Speaking to Men at Parties
There are moments when the light passes just right over the high point of someone’s cheekbone and I imagine my whole life as it would have been in a different universe, tracing the events of this imaginary life from that…
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We Are More: Wanting to Want: Romance and Sports Anime
I think I understand the gap between obsession and devotion, then.
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Voices On Addiction: Speaking Ill of the Dead
I have always felt stuck in the quicksand of Wanting-Things-To-Be-Different.
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Terra Incognita
At 30, I am about to bisect the difference in age between my mother and mother’s mother when they gave birth.
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From the Archives: The Sunday Rumpus Essay: Bad Blood
To give blood in the United States today is like joining an elite, profoundly uncool, hyper-exclusive club.
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Voices on Addiction: Washed Clean
That’s when I noticed John the Baptist standing chest-high in the middle of the narrow, easy-moving river.
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Bruce
Perhaps when we recognize the monsters alive in our brains, we’re less likely to kill the shadows cleaning up after us.
