107 When my ship flies into the asteroid belt, we steer it out. When my ship flies into the solar flare, we steer it out. Sometimes we even get to fly for miles in cool, silent dead space with not even

105 There’s a spaceship in my brain, but people weren’t at their stations, they were running around, screaming, trying to pilot the ship so that it crashed into a nearby moon. There was my internal stress,

Sometimes I look in the mirror and think, "What a weird subjective experience you decided to have this time around - maybe we should just give up now and try again?" I try to incorporate the

102 “Do you sonder?” the moon asks the sun, casting soft shadow across the city. The sun doesn’t respond. The sun doesn't speak English and is disinterested anyway, The moon drips into the writer’s coffee,

Edgar Allan Poe sat in the backseat of my car with his boots propped up against the glass and dried blood glowing underneath his fingernails. I picked him up from the Bucket of Blood at closing time, when

Cynicism is easy - I realize that now - because I used to look at the world in disdain with its McDonalds, mall, and unhappy marriages and just see shit piled on top of shit. I saw a gray world spattered

100 After reading over her last piece in art therapy, the writer is instructed to head to Anna’s office. The writer remembers the AHG vial, the intern’s seedy smile in the dark. “Have I done something

97 No matter what happens, I belong to her and her pain. 98 I built myself a feral nest underneath the kitchen sink, a nest of scraps of cloth and bird feathers and moist dirt, so that whenever I wanted

I always knew that I wanted to get back into martial arts. I practiced Kung Fu (A variation called Kung Fu San Soo) from the ages of 14-19 and later went to a martial arts club in college. But back then

I’ve had this dream before. For a thousand years King Minos sent 7 youth and 7 maidens as a feast for the Minotaur, and that year they sent us. The maidens once straight-spined and tall were crippled at

96 The writer trips and falls over the newly waxed floor in the hallway of the space shuttle outside her dormitory. “Fucking stupid, so clumsy. Sorry.” The cleaning robot tilts his head. He looks at her

88 My responsibilities as a writer include: [redacted] 89 I am a writer. The valley is dark but the inside of my brain is darker. Perhaps at the beginning I did not understand the repercussions of my obsession

84 My name is Autumn Christian, and I am a writer. This is possibly the most truthful thing I’ve written about myself in the entire book so far. Every day I put on a suit of scratchy orangutan hair and

I've traveled deserts to get to this moment. I used to think needless, endless suffering was just a part of life - part of being a "creative." But over the last few years, I've proved myself

I see pain and she is a queen, the sword in her hand has a hilt of needles, so that transference is inward and outward. It is not her joy, but her responsibility. I acquire objects to ease suffering. “If

82 The girl in the silk stockings, chewing on Nicorette gum, hair up in braids, built a network of traces on a map of the city above her bed. She’s tracing four people across the city - each represented

THE TEST Multiple choice: What has been the primary emotion felt when reading these psycho-surreal memoirs? 1 Anger 2 Disgust 3 Reciprocation 4 Apathy 5 Other _____ Do you consider yourself: 1 An empath

This is a post about how safety is an illusion and we're all going to die. The other day I asked on Facebook if I should apply to Clarion West's writing workshop and I got a pretty loud resounding no from

He said, "You're a pretty good writer for a woman," And I'm trying to keep it low-key, remembering to breathe, make sure that he can't see the popped veins elucidating the anger elicited from

79 He held me inside the viscous glow of candlelight, wrapped in white sheets. “What are you thinking?” he asked me. I didn’t respond. “You have to be thinking about something. Come on, what is it?” I