The musings of a young woman trying to find a voice and make a place and not eat the last piece of cheesecake. To the men who want to help or at least to know. I am so fucking tired of my friends and I being collateral damage in the adventures of men who see us as nothing more than bundles of body parts. The body remembers what the mind forgets. It holds it in its crevices. It leaks it into saliva and sweat. I know days like this.

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An offering of poems and breakfast recipes. Peel to sweet green lashes. A soft blow to the temple. Throat sponging, my tongue is a pink nib of doubt. Dip my mouth to ink this. She opens out her eyes legs to me. In the space between, the purple flowers floated, blossomed in the h.

The writings and contemplations of a 20-something Canadian. Mostly about comic books, but other stuff comes up. Friday, December 2, 2016. Noirvember - Free Lunch - Page 5. 1 - On Randall as he gets puts his hands up in an attempt to placate Charles. 3 - Randall kicks in the door. In the background, Charles searches through his coat.