Monthly Archives: March 2015

Junk on the Water

Red sails rear up lion dance, bucking bronco spurning concrete blocks behind, in relief and white waspish helicopters turn to Macau She slides away leaving me – bereft, odd, empty to a spooling gold sundown and Palmer’s vocals, thick as … Continue reading

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The Unreliable Autobiographer III

I don’t know how much time I have like this. Like this – lucid. I took back control of my own mind. This is Stephanie. Not that I’m usually called Stephanie, unless I’m in trouble and boy am in trouble … Continue reading

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The Unreliable Autobiographer II

“Writing is like fucking. Everybody thinks about it, few can do it well. I do it exceptionally myself.” – 2015, mememememe My name is ________________. I am twenty four years old. I am made of broken glass and the genius … Continue reading

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Twenty Four

Walking with the swinging tilt of late night red wine, soaked and slotting between boys like China dolls smoke tangling time tasted like him leaving. A laugh like crying, cross-legged in the dead night the pang of loss relighting organs … Continue reading

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The Unreliable Autobiographer

Lights dim. Deep into evening and I am writing about what it feels like to be writing – splitting into one of four personalities I extend to you, with formal invitation I tick Autobiographical, as if I wished hard enough, … Continue reading

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