For you, I can be perfect. Filtered photos and flattering angles. Pedicured toes and waxed skin. Witty text exchanges and knowing glances. I can be a dream. In this room, I am curious lips and crafty hands. Supple breasts and 30 inch legs. A sensitive neck and an ass that …
I spent much of last month losing my mind. No need for alarm. I didn’t have any depressive relapses. I did, however, notice changes in my cognitive functions. I forgot things. In the middle of speaking, I’d lose train of thought, pausing to reach words lost in my hazy mind. …
One of my aims for #TheMagicYear is “stop trying.” There is a need for validation lurking in my subconscious. I’m digging into it and at the root is a lack of certainty. I don’t know that anything exists (including myself) unless it is reflected in a physical, material way. Being prone …
Okay. So. Thirty-one. Last year, Life (speaking through the wisdom of my friendly neighborhood astrologer, Mecca–she’s actually based in NYC, but that’s not the point) charged me with the following:
When the above quote hit my Twitter feed this morning, followed by a litany of “you tried its,” I was intrigued. As I read “The Passion of Nicki Minaj” by Vanessa Grigoriadis, I didn’t love the tone. In many passages I found Grigoriadis indifferent at best and condescending at worst, …
