Nonfiction

Life Cycle of a Human OS

It begins (after multiple interviews over four months) with running under the arched tunneled bodies of our new coworkers and jumping into a pile of pillows at...

Juice

I am 19 years old. Standing in the bed of a red pickup truck, wearing cutoffs, ripping open trash bags. My palms sweat inside the film of plastic gloves. You a...

Gender Euphoria

A list of personal gender delights: faded plaid flannel shirts; rain pooling on daffodils; leather jackets gleaming with midnight streetlight; driving screws in...

Hartlepool Beach Extras

Hartlepool. The last one-night-stand dregs of a theatre tour, limping on for an extra month. ‘New dates added due to popular demand!’ Trying to claw back losses...

Twin Suns

She won’t give me the fish storybook. I take it. Reading the first few pages angrily, aggressively, the door shatters its bell-chime sound and I see my mother t...

A Miracle of Miracles

The first time I saw the actual birth of a child was in sixth grade sex ed at Harman Elementary, next to Chesapeake Mobile Court, where I was living with my mot...

Whiskeytown, California

My children lie to me. Dominic & Finn, 8 and 5, try to sell me on all kinds of bullshit about their capabilities. Currently, they are peddling the farce tha...

Nighttide

When I close my eyes at night, the first thing I see is a great ball of wool, lit up like neon in my inner vision. It’s intricately rolled, an Ariadne-ish weave...

I Will Hold It, My Love

There is a photograph, a portrait of my family from 1998 that hangs on the wall in our dining nook. My 15-month-old daughter is obsessed with looking at it. In ...