Teen magazines are filled with celebrity content, and flipping through their pages would often land you on a spread featuring your favourites adorned in the latest fashions, partnered with a popular beauty line, or paired with a page worth of gossip and intel.
driftwood builds up on the embankment...
you saw the stardust in me stardust that exists in all of us but you gave name to mine.
Without an after, there is no before. There is no telling what has happened, and what will. There is no telling if something was better. There is no was.
I’m picking at my fingernails when they call my name onstage. They’re always pronouncing it wrong – stee-fuh-nee.
For someone who calls himself “Your Nan’s Favourite Artist”, Matt sure does draw a lot of dicks.
After years of continued, grassroots activism, the conversation around unpaid placements and the poverty elicited by them, is finally winning an audience with the federal government.
House of Leaves is a weird book. It’s ergodic, postmodern, epistolary, and thirty other adjectives only used by wankers and nerds (me). It’s the kind of book that has academic papers written about it, and those papers have sections titled, “Postmodern Science, the Hypercube and Parallel Dimensions, and the Hypertext”. Seriously, that’s an actual chapter in this Buffalo State College paper.
We took our positions. We readied our Nerf guns. The older boys had picked out the bigger ones, the ones that held fifteen to fifty foam bullets, with more bulging their pockets. I took one of the smaller ones that held eight, but I liked how powerful my small Nerf gun was.
When I once again find myself contending with a confusing mess of emotions, I find myself needing to write these thoughts down.