singularity

The sun now overhead, the festival’s midday acts offered an incredible range of genres and styles. 

The first time I read Kristen Roupenian’s “Cat Person,” spellbindingly scrolling down my phone in the last row of a monotonous film lecture, I felt like somebody had captured my most intimate thoughts, thoughts I hadn’t even fully processed, and beautifully expressed them in one heartbreaking, disgusting, cringe-inducing short story.

There was a time when I believed that the best phases of my life were periods in which I clearly knew the answers to existential questions of identity.

She places a morsel of her soul in between my teeth — Nice to meet you too.