3 for friday

native texas

Last remnants of the green spring cling to newly installed metal fences. You’ve been spending too much time inside: scrolling endlessly and hoping someone you used to know will contact you just to spice things up.

In the long days of summer you wander around the city getting overly invested in the hardiness of native Texas plants. Texas Sage and Mountain Laurel, bright purple flowers blossoming into the heat. Unbothered. Thriving.

Come find me

A man online teases you in between compliments. You cut your finger on the blade of a new blender. Do split squats until your thighs burn. Ruin your jaw by grinding your teeth and chewing on ice. You tell yourself you deserve these small quiet pains. A constant ache to feel alive, like pressing down hard on a fresh bruise.

The opening of Matryoshka

In the winter of drought and dying marigolds, the downtrodden men came to me, parched and seeking relief. I was bartending at the Holey Grail: slinging stiff cocktails to sober twinks and hairy, wide-shouldered men who came to fuck int he darkroom before disappearing into the city for the remainder of the night. For those with a little extra to spend, I had my special offers. Tarot cards and crystal balls, casting bones and bamboo sticks shaken from a skinny tube, bought at a discount. Mostly, I practiced a perverse form of ordination; my swift hands moving quick and purposeful across stiff bodies, compelling fortune and fate through exasperated sighs and full-body tremors that came hand-in-hand with spiritual release.

Additional non-writing note

I’ve had at least one person actually take me up on this prospect (reading and critiquing) but still going to keep it out there. I’m still looking for folks who want to read the latest draft of my short story. Drop me a comment if you’re willing to read and provide feedback.