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Read MoreAn angry midget dresses as a little girl to catch pedophiles
Month: September 2017
My new sex robot won’t stop crying
Her silicone is as soft and pliable as real human skin. It even heats up to the right temperature with a pulse and everything. A dial on the back of her head gives 12 personality options, including “family friendly”, “intellectual”, “shy”, and “sexual”. She’s so realistic it’s scary, and would be absolutely perfect if she didn’t cry every time I touch her.
Redefining Love
I didn’t believe that stars were real when I was a little girl growing up in New York. My parents told me they were drowned out by the city lights, but that didn’t seem possible. It just didn’t make sense how something that big could be completely invisible. What was the big deal anyway, if they were duller than ordinary light-bulbs?
An Open Letter to my Daughter’s Killer
An open letter to the killer of Samantha B. If you’re somehow able to read this wherever you are now, know that I will find you.
What pain has taught me
You can feel Missy enter a room before you see her. The ambient sounds of the college classroom dissolve when she speaks, all the racuous shouting and laughter falling muffled beside the soft melody of her voice. She wears light and shadow with equal grace, every angle making her appear as though she were posing for the painter’s canvas. From the depth of her eyes to the supple curve of her body, Missy was a walking captivation. She was a dream, and I her dreamer, but it was all too soon that I had to wake.
A painting by day, a window by night.
A big black dog rearing on its hind-legs to stand like a human. One paw was conspiratorially placed in front of its lips as though swearing the viewer to uphold a shared secret. I hadn’t given the painting a second thought, except maybe to remind myself not to bump into it while stumbling down the hall at night to use the bathroom.
We can fix your child
As you inevitably age your skin will wither and mush like putrid fruit. Your organs will decay into useless sludge. Even your mind will rob you of a lifetime of memories and experience, reducing you to nothing but an organic shell of who you used to be. You’ve begun to feel it already. Imperceptible by the day, but implacable as the marching years, your body is growing soft and weak. You will never again be as young as you are in this moment, and even now you can smell all those lofty dreams of youth rotting into idle fantasies that will never be realized.
Life 2.0
I was 16 when I saw the first crack: a jagged line, about four feet long but less than an inch wide. I found it by the sidewalk behind my house. Not on the sidewalk. The crack was in the air, visible from every direction as I circled around it. Harmlessly suspended, and nothing more.
As seen on a slaughterhouse camera
Two men, pick-up trucks, work-overalls. New hires, they said, but they were professionals who knew their way around a slaughterhouse as well as anyone. They were always comfortable with the hogs I dropped off and never had to ask twice about how I wanted the meat prepared. Of course, both of them deserve the same done to them as they were doing to those poor animals, but there’s no way I could have known that when we first met.
Bet I can make you smile
The first time I met him was at my grandfather’s memorial. Dark round spectacles just covering his eyes, long black coat, steel-grey hair halfway down his shoulders. A whole room of handkerchiefs and downcast faces, but he was the only one smiling. I was only 8 at the time, and that seemed like a good enough reason for me to sit beside him.