The soup is meant to be a reminder. You want to remind her—with spices and matchsticked scallions and cracked seeds and noodles and thick, hot broth—you are all her body needs. She once said it herself. She once said she could swim in a lake of your soup, and you felt your insides butter-sputter. You told her she could walk through your door—any day, any time—and no matter what, there would be soup, and she could have a taste
Read MoreA ghost slid into Zuri’s DMs. Dread sunk through her gut like a dropped weight when the phone buzzed in her pocket. She wasn’t sure how she knew this message came from someone it shouldn’t have…
Read MoreI can bite, maim, break skin, make bleed, spit. I can speak, shout, scream, screech. I can become megaphone, alarm, crow, lioness, wolf, Banshee. I can taste, devour, eat, chew, feed, swallow, regurgitate, vomit.
Read MoreWhat is heartbreak, Oppenheimer? A nuclear cloud over history, drones blooming like dandelion seeds, cluster bombs under the smooth feet of children. A stranger you hurt…
Twenty years ago, a coven of Mystic Reptilians bound Christine Larsen to the eighth realm of hell, also known as Philadelphia. Here she would toil over an unforgiving drawing board, creating horrible wonders for the amusement of her demon cohort….
Read MoreEight (8) different homes in (2) two cities.
One (1) undergraduate degree and one (1) graduate degree, the latter completed at a small art school in San Francisco.
Two (2) lost laptops. One, forgotten in my backpack at Safeway in San Francisco, when I put down my bag to consider what booze I wanted to buy for our going away party. My keys for the new apartment in Los Angeles were there, too. The other laptop was on top of my car, two or so years before that, lost when I forgot about it on top of my car and drove onto the 405…
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