by Sam Moe (Content warnings: Mentions of blood, sexual violence, emotional abuse, mentions of food/disordered eating) TemperatureA small burning fire at the center of your core. Nights spent sobbing in the walk-in freezers. Chilly wine-key, blue frost growing on boxes of wine glasses. Beer stashed behind buckets of sauce. Sticky blue tape, peeling from heat. Burns on the backs of your hands. The man who requested you sauté his clam chowder until its temperature peeled the flesh off the …
by Dana Stamps II “When I say I want to photograph someone, what it really means is that I’d like to know them.” —Anne Leibovitz Objects, subjects, the brazen anonymous porn star, whose audacious nudity is not faked. I wonder what brought her to pagination, and no clutter of tattoos, no butt inked—classy, probably the poor kind—and I wonder how she is coping with her life after the shoot, …
On the first Sunday of October in 1988, Mr. and Mrs. Suzuki drove my suitcases to the next homestay family, the Yashiros; I followed behind on my 50cc Honda Tact. Mr. Yashiro— a busier carpenter than Mr. Suzuki, judging by his absence— had built a home for his family with amenities like climate control in every room. In the front hall bathroom, he had also installed a washlet: an evolved toilet that directed a jet of cleansing water in the direction of my butt at the tap of a remote control. The …
After my mother dreamt that the cow she was eating was her own mother, bovine eyes terrified and crying, we went vegetarian. Tofu, tempeh, and seitan had yet to catch on in Atlanta, so she replaced our 8-ounce reusable container for bulk grind-your-own crunchy peanut butter with a 16-ounce jar. Creamy peanut butter epitomized the normal life I just knew was better. Jif’s predictably standard smell represented clothes bought from the Gap, not stitched together interior design scraps my …
Why We Never Leave Seventh Grade Shortly before turning 50, I had an epiphany. It wasn't one of those full-blown, Network-style, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore!" moments. I didn't wake up one day and suddenly decide that I needed to leave my husband or quit my job or move my family across the ocean. I'd already done two of those before turning 40, anyway. My revelation was physical in nature. After spending more than 30 years as a casual runner, my …
The author makes no claim as to the sanity, safety, or legality of any of the practices described in the following. Readers are advised to exercise common sense before attempting any of the practices here described while driving a motor vehicle. When the Kansas Turnpike opened in 1956, it was a magical passage through the Flint Hills. As a six-year-old from Wichita, I knew nothing of the concerns of ranchers, farmers, or the Department of Transportation. The Turnpike and the Flint Hills were …