what that?

god bless the racially ambiguous pancake house. the stars are yellowyonsei can you see?by the VONS blue security light?what’s so proudly we hailed:Uchinaa, Hawaii, LAand our ancestors just beaming,just dreaming.But who’s broad shoulders and bright scarsdid she — sorry — they inherit?Engineering major declared,ignoring workplace stares.But their mortgage, that mortgage,was proof that the dream was still there.(the American one, I mean.)Yonsei does that slur-spangled,self-hating hyphenate yet...

I cried on an airplane last week. It wasn't much different from crying on the purple line, (sorry, the D line), not much different from crying on the 4X south bound express, not different from the backseat of mom's red volvo station wagon. I cried on an airplane last week. I couldn't tell you what model the plane was, (it was a boeing plane), couldn't tell you when we became airborne, couldn't say why I cried. I cried on an airplane last week. what what what what is a prompt for you, dear...

we spent the new year cozy. as cozy as one can be in a dimly lit ranch house in the middle of the California desert, staring at a is-that-a-tapestry-or-is-that-the-skin-of-a-small-animal-hung-as-sacrifice-in-this-airbnb. as cozy as one can be in a dimly lit ranch house in the desert with a guestbook boasting of the quantity and variety of lewd acts performed on all parts of the property, illustrative psychedelic-assisted journeys in the living room, the house ghost present in the eyes of the...

deface/defecate my fingers through your hair, tress passing. windows of childhood roadtrip ennui, trees passing. the College Board Advanced Placement tests, threes passing. melodies on forbidden acres, trespass sing. a trio of lovers, left on read, three's past sting. that trio of lovers, moments before expiration, three's last fling. one last thing! don't poop on my lawn. Thanks everyone who responded to last week's survey! I have a couple of ideas for this newsletter brewing but for now...

uhmn, yellow, how can i help you? no vacancies, the sign to my brain reads. full capacity. at some point during the big quarantine, a phrase entered the global lexicon, or at least my awareness of the global lexicon. "living rent-free in my head" In June of 2000, I was eight years old. Aardman studios released their stop motion animation CHICKEN RUN, in which a suave, Amercian chicken Mel Gibson deceitfully convinces proper British hens destined for pot pies that he can fly and can teach them...