He made it possible. He was formerly a fabulist. 
He was faceless, but he was ugly, graceless 
and he made everything disappear.  

aligning 
as fingers 
deftly dance 

on checkered 
smooth plastic 
disco stage 

Adam’s countenance: beer cask-heavy 
his eyes: glazed shallots 
his smile: a split itself 

Now take away the need 
for moisture and the deteriorating  
qualities of autumn. The veins   

and stems will release as well.  
Take away the release. Take  
away the seasons.

When Taylor Swift was at the gym in Japan  
she watched the muscled back of a man   

moving up and down a heavy machine 
made by other heavy machines for men.   

of spontaneous human combustion,  
of pictures with the Cherry Hill Mall Santa, 
of a stapler after getting my wrist stuck to my teacher’s green bulletin board, 

and on the tv 
a drag queen 
sharing her recipe 
for sun tea  

asks us if we want to  
watch her take a break 
and we take a break   

Honeywell closed their Minnesota plant quietly
and the addition of warning stickers on album covers
would save the children along with D.A.R.E., Nancy
and Tipper directing the conversation, for some reason.

I read, I traveled, I, Lina, thief’s daughter, a discarded toy by the campfire 
at night, my planets – burned by sparks, 
burned by coincidences, in my eyelashes – stalagmites of ashes. 

Because Phil Collins is for fools and old ladies.  
Because the ocean’s too wide a body of water  
for a commando to cross alone. Because gentlemen  
never kiss and tell, and soldiers never share  
their kill count. Because you teach the meaning  
of words like ‘amorous’ and ‘varnish’ and ‘leave.’  

Some were surprised that the show, which never captured more than a one percent viewer share, lasted as long as it did. The Haworth twins looked nothing alike; then there was Joan Didion’s Esquire piece ravaging Carol Haworth’s parenting style and the Connecticut student who noticed the window in McKelvey’s (19th century) stable, home of Wesley McKelvey’s mare Firecloud, revealed the top of a Burger King sign.  

We ate and made useless chat. The Best was bland that day. All I could taste was the vinegar. Katie had cut her hair short. Truthfully, she looked beautiful. I made the conscious decision not to look at her socks. After the sandwiches were eaten things got quiet. 

Then Dad started to miss birthdays and funerals and anniversaries. When our cat, Sasha, and our turtle, Jamba Juice, died, Mom dug up the graves. My brother and I prayed for Sasha and Jamba Juice. Dad was still inside, playing video games.  

My Aunt Sharon gave me a whole shelf-worth of conduct guides when I turned ten. She didn’t call them that, of course. And unlike Victorian conduct guides, none of them said my ovaries would shrivel if I read too much (although, my ovaries did eventually shrivel, or more accurately, they exploded, but that was years down the road yet. At 13 my ovaries were still intact, as far as I knew).  

“I’d like to take a look at that book.” He wraps his hand around the nape of her neck, and they lock unblinking eyes like children in a staring contest. When she is the first to look away, Ted says, “Why don’t I give you a ride home.”  

Emily acted as guide, her arm around Nathan’s, until they sat opposite each other. Her eyes scanned the menu lazily, already knowing she would get the flauta plate and as many free margaritas as they’d serve her. Nathan’s eyes flickered up to her face then back down to his phone, fingers never ceasing the algorithm-perpetuated doom scroll.  

In addition to being a lovely person, my sister also possesses a great memory, meaning the slightest hint of something you might drop in discussion can turn up in a lovely gift at any time. Staring down at the gleaming rendition of Abe Lincoln I remembered how the last time we spoke I told her about how I was getting into coin collecting after reading an article about this one particular printing of penny that had just sold at an auction for an exorbitant price. This one didn’t have the defect that made that one so valuable, but it was rare nonetheless. 

I put my pants on like everyone else: throwing my pants in the air mid-handstand the pastor preached to his congregation. Edward Fortyhands with the monkey’s paw the congregation preached back.  

Sarah enters the castle. Carmen takes over and helps her get acclimated. Come to find out, she’s missing from the Center for Wayward Girls. Family died in a fire. A troubled kid bounced around in foster care homes.

What should I do? I know she met the judge. I mentioned him. She couldn’t stop shaking.

I arrive 15 minutes early because that is what the flier says to do. The address has brought me down an alleyway between a church and a nail salon. It’s dark and wet. A car pulls up and a man gets out. He is tall and has pecs that push through his t-shirt. He asks me if I’m here for the fitness class. I hold up the flier. He says his name is Derek and tells me to follow him.  

Pop culture permeates every facet of my being. I speak in Simpsons references, I study Frank Henenlotter films to create trivia questions, even my WIP, a novel about a woman who makes poor dating choices, is rife with sections about movies. Pop culture is important to me, and it's clearly important to everyone else too. 

Bell's journey serves as a reminder that behind the public personas and controversies lie individuals with their own stories of pain, resilience, and growth. It calls us to cultivate a culture of compassion and understanding, acknowledging that healing and redemption are complex processes that require patience and support.

Three months after my 19th birthday, I was sent home from my freshman year of college for 2 weeks for some kind of virus going around. I spent those two weeks in blissful ignorance with my friends, waiting on an email with a return date from our colleges that would never come. 

In Chicago again, but years after, from the airport with my bags all packed, clutching a small quilted pillow and a backpack, my passport and a ticket for Rome in my hand. Blow a kiss. Wave wildly. Say farewell. My grandmother with her butterscotch breath. With her Filipino kisses: her nose pressed to my cheek, one long sniff.

It's the portrayals of thinkers and writers like O’Brien, Nadine Gordimer, James Wood, and Edward Said, that further explain the purpose behind such a book, more so than Professor Boyers’ reflections on the title figures. Much of this memoir is set at various dinners, conferences, and symposiums where arguments are volleyed and feelings are hurt. The atmosphere is taut with argument.

On three, the boy next to us threw a Frisbee that wasn’t there. A second later, we let loose the real thing. Time slowed as we waited for a reaction. The man in charge of our European well-being cursed into the evening. Contact!  

During our time dating, Matt told me he had an ex-lover named Geoff.  For whatever reasons and coincidences, more than a couple of my boyfriends over the years have had exes named Geoff.  I apologize for this stupid and ridiculous response, but I developed a negative, visceral reaction when I hear that name mentioned by someone I’m seeing, no matter how it’s spelled. 

Here’s our small, intimate January issue, which we felt was a great way to ease into 2024.

She played the video and I spent the remainder of my time burning a hole into the screen with my eyes. I watched the instructor move the yarn one way, then another and focused on all the moving parts. I swore those written instructions were in Latin or something, I thought. This is much easier.

I hope the holidays are peaceful and filled with love.