I don't mind doing awful things as long as somebody else does. I would totally jump off the bridge, thanks for asking.
They were living exciting, crazy, queer lives full of poetry and camaraderie and heart-seizing crushes. I mean, not that night, but generally. That night they were bored.
Maybe we could all take care of each other, I dreamed.
I was really into communal living and we were all /such free spirits, crossing the country we were /nomads and artists and no one ever stopped / to think about how the one working class housemate / wa...
She wouldn't have sex with me in public bathrooms. Little things like this haunted me. I was only twenty-five.
and give me insults, give meeconomic discrimination, give methe darkened parking lot of a windowless queer bar, give me fleets of bigots and books bannedin libraries across america, feed the worldwith...
The horror of knowing someone and living with them and even thinking you're lucky and then wham and now you know that every person is really two people and how can you ever know what the other half is...
The messed-up queers Michelle ran with tempted fate daily, were creating a new way to live, new templates for everything – life, death, beauty, aging, art.
And give me insults, give meeconomic discrimination, give methe darkened parking lot of a windowless queer bar, give me fleets of bigots and books bannedin libraries across america, feed the worldwith...
She was just so sad. Her whole face hung with it, like sadness was her personal gravity.
Nearly all the queers Michelle knew were fuckups in one way or another.
Michelle was shocked at how many beauty products were marketed at balm for swollen eyes. She imagined thousands of female consumers sobbing hysterically all night and acting like there was no problem...
How many lovers did a person need, anyway?
This is growing up, having to stomp out love, this is how people turn terrible.
You are right where you should be / now act like it
I wanted to try things, everything, especially things that are illegal and have a faint whiff of glamour.
Writing was the antijob, the fuck you to all jobs, her claim on her autonomy, what kept her feral and free.
This mouth had kissed me so much it had worn its own grooves into my teeth. It was like settling into the armchair that fit exactly the round of your body, only it was incredibly exciting because ever...
So I kept talking because nothing gets me going like knowing I should shut up. Oh, I should be quiet and full of potential like all those still flowers, but I know I am a weed and I've got to blow my...
Remember when i slept with my headin a puddle at your feet?It was humility, or atonement.later your ankle was a pillow andfinally you pulled me up and in my sleep iplaced your hand above my heart,