On the surreal nature of secondary trauma.
I’ve spent most of my life reading literature that made me laugh. But something has changed.
During quarantine, I've been trying to remind myself that I've always been able to find inspiration for a better life.
Our ancestors were born to die by predators. We are born to die by products.
On the shame of mentorship.
I have begun to obsess about this one kiss. A kiss. What the hell difference would a kiss make?
This summer, I assigned myself the task of swimming home, moving through the neighborhoods and communities that, side by side, would bring me back to myself.
How queer BDSM and sex work helped me to refuse an inheritance of indoctrination.
Described as a theme park necropolis, Forest Lawn Cemetery created a new template for posthumous culture in North America.
In my diagnosis, I saw the first irrefutable proof of myself. But so many others saw a referendum on what it means to be atypical.