The Mothership
Most of all, I hoped they’d see how well I turned out and regret ever sending me away.
Essays
168 posts
The Beat Goes On
If the average lifespan is roughly 76 years, then that one muscle, the size of a fist, beats 2,796,192,000 times. It never quits, until it quits.
What She Kept
I hand-wrote my mother a letter entirely in hangul. It looked like a child wrote it, which was because a child wrote it.
A GenderPunk Love Letter
Every support system that is lacking is made up for by a mad rush of love-struck queers trying to hold each other up.
The Blood of My Mother
For as long as I remember, I have had stories in my head and instead of writing them down, I had imaginary conversations with people.
You’re Not My Birth Mother, But Thanks
But then someone appeared: a woman. Forty-ish. Brown hair. Casual sweater and jeans. An apologetic grimace.
Escape Velocity
But neither of us has said what does matter, or what we want, only what we do not want, and there in his defensive stammering, I can play my final card: You don’t know anything about me.
from The Book of (More) Delights
Anyhow, alas, thanks to my boundless, bottomless, boundaryless ignorance: goddamn and holy shit! Waxing and waning! Have you heard?!?!
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 . . .