Ginny

I had made the soup too quickly for a random date I had over for seder who balked at salty parsley. And it is not well skimmed. My legs are two wavy lines after the first cigarette of the day. I run the sifter over the top of the soup I am giving my mom Natalie: not my biological mother, but since 1999 she has assumed the role. If I do not have this soup clear by 9am, I will be late to knock on doors for the DSA. The yellow fat stares at me, remini -scent of the greasy pocke

Drew some live flowers with my eyes closed and colored it in with them open. Had a sketch night with a friend and drew their goober cat, Mitch.

Two space dudes looking space drippy in some space duds

Short-term projects from a long-term hospital stay. Any drawings you see before April were done without access to many references

Take a long walk in a third-world capital. Touch each building like you own it. Take a slow, deliberate pace, as though you plant your flag with every step. Approach a busker. Take his instrument and play it the worst you can. If he played the fiddle, play with opposite hands. If it’s a wind, remove the reed altogether.

ACCOMPANYING PLAYLIST: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5Jq8YtzjCahHacFkriCp0e?si=QlaR4EITTve5rDA3mDrpxQ&pi=Csy1o7uUTtioe

ACCOMPANYING PLAYLIST: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1BcJ2bzmxveE5xRsvdaMuw?si=PvO-nMAERKG2diggTgvmiA&pi=MJmbqHirRzS8S

Backyard barbecue babes ephemeral like cicadas, air thick and dank with smoke. Chicago people don’t scare easy yet they tread the streets in fear for years, altogether an unsocial species. Don’t want anyone labeling their children. Don’t want to be ridiculed for profoundest moments, those associated with near- paranormal consensuses. Lake Michigan hauntings murders of the Midwest cemeteries of O’Hare: they do not compare. But to ask a real Neighborhood Man would yield, like t

Upon answering a lobster phone, a small-biz Detroitian kinetic artist found himself speaking to Oba Oduduwa , the great Yoruba orisha , who asserted he admired the thought , but then politely asked for that tradition back. " And for the metal arokin , which really just a talking piggy bank , isn't it? A naked Furby - Pez for colonizer money? 'Ah-AH. Need food.' " Oduduwa engorged his eye sockets and blinked twice mechanically , pursing his handsome lips over his white teeth a

Ah, humanity: the headless hitchBOT on a Pennsylvania park bench.

I’m unsure what time of day it was when my headlamp started to dim. I bellowed for help in Spanish and Dutch to a vibrating echo. I knew beneath everything that it didn’t matter what scraps of language I knew to holler–no one else would be wandering under a kilometer of foreign dolomite. Stuck face-down in a belly crawl within a collapsing vein of a narrow sinkhole, left arm forward and right arm folded tight to my hip, I was suspended over a clear blue pool twitching with t

I lay awake in bed late one night, frozen in the shadow of a figure in my doorway: a six-foot three amigurumi man. I made him, tediously, in my garage—it took years off me. The wool spun hot through my hands as I wove his tan skin and fringed his Western-style jacket and slacks. Screaming fingers balmed with sheep grease, I crocheted a pair of mosaic-pattern cowboy boots for my Man. He wears a size 11.5. He must have cost me a million in wool, as stuffing alone came from a Do

I met you on HAM radio in the 90s— you snatched a butterfly off a birch tree and showed me the powder from its wings on your amputated pointer finger, on the stub. We’d quarrel angrily over walkie talkie— you’d shout the plans for our campsite on the rez, and I’d shout over you that we never talk like a normal parent and child do. I’d help you perform surgery, via cup and string, and I’d hand you a fly fishing rig when you’d asked for the vacuum tube. After you die, we’ll div

Ideally, I’d like someone anonymous I can send art that makes me laugh, like Frank O’Hara’s poem about Lana Turner collapsing. We would live within walking distance but we’d definitely avoid each other. They wouldn’t ask too many ambiguous questions but rather demonstrate unearthly wit and teach me every thing I don’t know about astrophysics. It would be a great comfort to know what’s out there. We would never touch or even really see each other, but we would be inseparable.

Harrowing as the day I was born (I think??), you lamented about how you briefly forgot the love of your life--like driving a small pin into a toe pad inebriated with bathwater, you related the story to me--and the backs of my eyelids remembered that ear-worm Pathetique, the one written by Stravinsky for the opera about the giantess who fell into unrequited love with an ogre. We watched it develop at the Civic, up in the nosebleeds and you placed your hand on the back of my he

I wonder what you looked like today, the day when I erased you from my mind. It didn’t emerge from bitterness; not an eviction but a slow expiration, like the shrinking of a bright balloon.

I'll wait: not like some fanged or taloned thing, but like drumlins lain regiment on cold plains, the last bullfrog rasping in the wood,...