being a writer

June 2, 2019

The tricky thing about being a writer, or about being any kind of artist, is that in addition to making art you also have to make a living. My short stories and novels have always filled my life with meaning, but, at least in the first decade of my career, they were no more capable of supporting me than my dog was. But part of what I love about both novels and dogs is that they are so beautifully oblivious to economic concerns. We serve them, and in return they thrive. It isn’t their responsibility to figure out where the rent is coming from.

Ann Patchett
This is the story of a happy marriage

Five years ago, I decided to try being involved with a woman because I had many unsuccessful relationships with men and I wondered if I was missing out. I met a lesbian on POF and we dated for about 2 months, and we had sex 3 times, and it was weird. Eating pussy is really weird. It tastes like a 9-volt battery. Women are hard to give orgasms to. I felt very inadequate. Anyway, I realised that I was definitely straight and I’m glad I tried it because now I know. Also, as an aside, she gave me the best head I’ve ever received.

SOURCE

easy to arouse

June 2, 2019

Boys are so very easy to arouse. Just run a hand a little too far up his leg, or back a little too far into him while queuing in the supermarket, or nonchalantly give him a little peek of the lingerie you’re wearing, and he’s toast! Stiff as stiff can be!

The dead like pussy too. If they are able to catch a woman and disable her enough so that she cannot resist, you will see the lucky ones burrowing in between her legs as happily as the most avid lover. They do not have to come up for air. I have seen them eat all the way up into the body cavity. The internal female organs seem to be a great delicacy, and why not? They are the caviar of the human body.  It is a sobering thing to come across a woman sprawled in the gutter with her intestines sliding from the shredded ruin of her womb, but you do not react. You do not distract the dead from their repast. They are slow and stupid, but that is all the more reason for you to be smart and quick and quiet. They will do the same thing to a man — chew off the soft penis and scrotal sac like choice morsels of squid, leaving only a red raw hole. But you can sidle by while they are feeding and they will not notice you. I do not try to hide from them. I walk the streets and look; that is all I do anymore.  I am fascinated. This is not horror, this is simply more of Calcutta.

Poppy Z. Brite
Calcutta, Lord of Nerves

DIANA’S JUSTICE

June 2, 2019

The maiden hies off to the woods:
On a moon-pale steed she rides,
Decked out in doublet, hose of black,
A sword all by her side.

She goes to meet her own true love
With lips pursed in a frown,
And rides beneath the greenwood boughs
Until the sun goes down.

Dismounting in the chosen glade,
She sits upon a stone.
With sword laid flat across her knees,
She waits for him to come.

Brush crackles, and her head snaps up.
Her eyes suss out the sound —
Then narrow as he greets the grove
With smile broad as her frown.

“Ah, love,” he grins, then sidles close,
His arms outspread, his hands
Prepared to smooth her knitted brow;
She hefts the sword and stands.

“Love?” she says, her voice quite low,
“Is that what you name this ill
That makes you think you have the right
To bend me to your will?”

His smile falls off; he backs a step,
Tramples its shattered joy,
Mouth gaping in bewilderment —
“You thought it just a ploy?

“I love you, and I thought that you — ”
“Speak not that word to me!”
Her eyes flash in the dusky woods;
Her voice shakes bitterly.

“A virgin I walked out with you,
A virgin I’d remain —
You said you understood and wouldn’t
Challenge my domain,

“You plotted to seduce me — you
Believed I had no mind
To give that gift of my free will,
And in my own good time!”

His brow is creased beneath fair hair;
His chin trembles with grief.
“I made you want me, didn’t I,
Till you must have some relief?”

She spits at him and hefts the sword
Till he backs off again.
Her eyes dart wild with the distress
Of thus confronting him.

“That’s just the point! I trusted you
To help uphold my vow;
I didn’t want to want you then,
And I don’t want to now!

“You sought for your own pleasure, so
You played games with my mind!
You made me false to that most dear —
That was the most unkind!”

Now he draws out his dagger, his
Blue eyes gone wide with fear —
She lifts the sword to mark his chest,
Scowl marred by silent tears.

“Ah, love,” he begs, “don’t do this, you’ll
Regret it all your life!”
He holds her eyes. He ducks the sword
And strikes out with his knife.

“Traitor!” she screams at silver flash,
“You’d steal my life now, too?”
“You’ve mine!” he cries as blades swing down,
Too late to halt for rue.

He stabs her right below the heart;
Her sword cuts through his chest.
Two loves who share one pool of blood —
Diana’s case can rest.

Adele Gardner

Good writing advice

June 2, 2019

Don’t write drunk

Eileen Myles
Interview in the Paris Review Fall 2015

It’s

June 2, 2019