New poetry coming out at Booth next week
New Fiction coming soon at Southern Humanities Review
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“They seem to have selective hearing about matters that that are urgent to me. Then, when I make a mess, they point at it, furiously, how could I make such a mess? So eventually I stopped telling them I was in trouble.”
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“What was left was a person who pretended not to know, who pretended her life was fine, left was a person who couldn’t admit her father and her boyfriend were very sick. Most of all this person couldn’t feel anything and yet felt everything. Her life was somehow simultaneously completely excruciating and completely pointless. Taking one breath concurrently a dagger, and a bore.”
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Full Text here: http://www.newhavenreview.com/index.php/print-editions/
Here’s the cover page for my piece in issue 10 of New Haven Review, “Meredith is Missing.” Full Text Here: http://www.newhavenreview.com/index.php/print-editions/
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“I orchestrated seedy sexual experiences with male friends who tried hard to reach some part of me that was human, men who told me I was wonderful, and I never spoke to them again. I tried to hook up with strangers and when they didn’t give me exactly what I wanted, I treated them cruelly. I once smacked a guy across the face for kissing me poorly in a Williamsburg bar bathroom. Eventually I hid out in gay bars on the Lower East Side: The Boiler Room, Urge, Cock, feeling I was safe there. I went with friends often, and once or twice by myself. We would dance, drink, touch the go-go boys on the bars, critique the porn projected on the walls. I wanted to be left alone, I didn’t want to connect, I didn’t want sex, I didn’t want to feel anything. Sometimes on the dance floor, men would grab my crotch earnestly searching for a penis under my dress, and I genuinely felt guilty that I didn’t have one for them to enjoy. I thought about killing myself. I thought about doing heroin. I thought about becoming a nun. I got texts from men I’d met in bars: “U WANNA FUCK?” at three, four and five in the morning. I never responded - but I felt invigorated: I was finally getting somewhere. I was finally worth something! I was an object of desire.”
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Here’s an excerpt from “Throw it Up” available in print at New Ohio Review
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