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Mac

In 100 on November 13, 2021 at 9:54 am

Mac Miller was my first hero who died younger than I was. I cried, walking around Berlin, listening to “2009” and “Dunno” and “Wings”.

It was heartbreak, for a kid with a heart of gold; a kid who felt deeply, shared bravely. And it was anger. It was anger at a drug addict who knew, who told you he knew, and who lost his life to a stupid fucking overdose anyway. When the kid who “fell asleep and forgot to die”, remembered.

I don’t think I’ve ever “gotten over” Mac dying.

And in some ways, I hope I never do.

Finding love

In 100 on November 12, 2021 at 4:35 pm

David was nobody before Goliath. Just some plucky shepherd. And so he slings Goliath—which for sure helped the brand—but he’s chasing more. He wants to marry the King’s daughter.

The King, as kings do, isn’t enamored of David. He did some thing, but that doesn’t make him some body. Not king pedigree.

But he has to give David a chance. So he sends him on a mission: collect 100 Phillistine foreskins.

Spoilers: David does. He drops them in front of the king, who counts them—counts them— to be sure.

David gets the girl, and the rest is fantasy.

Leaves

In 100 on November 9, 2021 at 12:34 pm

There’s a tree there on 20th between Guerrero and Valencia. Broad young leaves, filled with life. Translucent mantis green.

He’s wearing a drab jade sleeping bag as a gown.

And he’s plucking those leaves.

One at a time, from the bottom.

He’s plucking them, spiraling around.

He’s plucking them as pedestrians cross to the other sidewalk.

Giving a wide birth.

Giving him space to work.

San Francisco keeps a record of every tree—their health and their history. It’s online. Open data.

The site is down now, but maybe it will be up for you.

Maybe you can find it’s name.

Favorites

In 100 on November 7, 2021 at 1:54 pm

It’s 7:53 Saturday morning.

She’s wearing a bikini, neon yellow, and a wig, platinum silver. Her eyes are white. The pupils, too, are milky, the way pearls are. She’s got pink flip-flops and her feet mottled dusty black like firefighters’ faces. 

Early thirties, maybe, but who could tell. (Does it matter?)

“Are you going to eat that?”, to a young woman walking by.

“Yes,” she says.

“Oh please, please, please I like that! It’s my favorite!”

She doesn’t stop, eyes on the glass of the passing storefronts.

Now wimpering,

“Please please please,”

now yelling,

“Why can’t! you!”,

now growling,

“share!!”

survival is not about manning up

In by Lara on November 7, 2021 at 12:16 pm

It turns out wilderness survival is mostly about managing male egos. Being the first one to take a sip of water so that it’s not emasculating to be thirsty. I was afraid that I’d need to skill up, learn a ton of knots, be really strong, and practice complicated maneuvers to be anywhere near useful in a crisis. But of course it’s more about foresight, planning, and humility. Because, does it really matter how much you practiced with a crossbow if you don’t end up having one on a day hike where you take a tumble and break your leg?

Mid-Humanoid Culture: Chapter 3 — Animal Consumption

In by Lara on November 6, 2021 at 12:27 pm

Back in the early second millennia, consumption of animal proteins surged to an all-time high, despite the inefficiencies in production. Environmentalist factions gained traction with about 10% of the population, despite the platforms being identical to the predominating political views today, proterra. The mechanism seemed purely irrational at the time. It wasn’t until Nobel prize winner (posthumously awarded) Dr. Lange discovered a toxic behavioral manipulator in animal proteins that caused a paradigm shift in human acceptance of meat as a viable food source. Unfortunately, it took several centuries for cultures to shift away from animal meat and towards safer aliments.

There’s fire in that mind.

In 100 on November 5, 2021 at 11:51 pm

“Confessions of a Mask”, she told me, “by Yukio Mishima.”

“What’s it like?”

“Emotionally devastating.”

I read it in one sitting. Well, rarely sitting. At times I paced, but devastation is best experienced low: quarter-fetal on the floor or melting off an ottoman, that sort of thing.

The protagonist was coming of age, gay, in Japan around the Second World War. His mind existed entirely of a violent thunderstorm. A turbulent existential hell. From the day he was born, he was completely and totally fucked. He never knew it could be any other way.

It took me weeks to recover.

how to say hello to a giant sequoia

In by Lara on November 5, 2021 at 10:52 am

The young witch yawned, relighting the lamp with a flick of her pinky. It was late. They say magic changes your neural pathways in wondrous ways, but she never predicted it would be so exhausting. She read on:

Each being has its own preferred greeting, just as we humans have in our different “languages.” Hello, Nǐ hǎo, Merhaba, Hola, etc. But this is still one means for one species. What about a giant sequoia — its canopy, its trunk, a pine needle, its root network. Do any of our hello’s fully acknowledge and respect their being in the appropriate ways?

gossip on the block

In by Lara on November 4, 2021 at 10:26 am

Looking out the window, her gaze traces the road up and over the hill, between neat terraces of groomed trees. Her eyes stop at the blue house on the left. The one with a large blooming magnolia tree out front and a not-so white fence that has since fallen into disrepair. All to be expected since the foreclosure and the unspeakable tragedy that everyone wouldn’t stop whispering about when they assumed privacy on their own stretch of sidewalk. But what was that? It was covered in flowers from the recent storm, but it was unmistakably there. A newly erected mailbox.

yellow

In by Lara on November 3, 2021 at 6:58 pm

What’s your favorite color?
Yellow.
Why?
It reminds me of the sun, which is sad.
The sun is sad or the fact that yellow reminds you of the sun is sad?
The former.
Like the sun feels sad or the concept of the sun makes you sad?
Both. The sun gives life and meaning to everything but is inherently alone, burning so intensely that nothing can ever get close. It’s tragic.
So why is it your favorite color?
I guess it’s beautiful? Both aesthetically and representationally speaking. It’s a sadness that is vibrant in its simplicity and relatability. That’s yellow.

Accommodation

In 100, by Wyatt on November 3, 2021 at 10:20 am

“Do you have space?”

“I’m pretty full, but I want you to have a place to stay. Let me see what I can do.”
She went back into the motel’s office. He waited in the lobby. Rain smashed against the windows, headlights glided past. 

“I can squeeze you in with two Germans. They said they’d host you in their room in exchange for a free breakfast. I’ll roll out a trundle”

“Are you sure it’s not too much trouble? I can just set up my tent outside. 

She raised her eyebrows.

“Thank you. I didn’t know who else to call.”

Churning

In by Wyatt on November 3, 2021 at 10:12 am

If you’re thirsty, drink. 

If you’re tired, sleep. 

If you’re silent, sing. 

If you’re thirsty, notice it.

If you’re tired, see it.

If you’re silent, sit.

Pick up a rock and see the mountain it was once. Breathe in the morning and taste the primordial seaweed that made it. Feel your dissatisfaction and gobble up the billions of years that led to it. 

Which is not to say, do nothing. Rather, know that when you do something, that “something” is nothing. Call her. Put paprika on your apple. Stretch out the knot in your gut. You must.

Then keep dancing.

A Week of Spells

In 100, by Wyatt on November 3, 2021 at 9:59 am

“Oh my look who’s here.”

“Cutie patootie aren’t we having such a time!’

“Hi hello gorgeous pie”

“Goodness such a floofy featherbutt, well here we go!”

“Mmmm jooga jooga jooga.”

“It’s a noodle!” 

“Yes yes yes I know, my sweet.”

The first words uttered after waking up are an incantation. Subconscious, or preconscious. The most important words she speaks all day.

Because she comes into the world each morning forgetting the truth. Failing to remember the simplest fact. Amidst face licks and warbling growls, the enthusiasm and wisdom of a sweeter creature reminds her: they might never have woken up.