Samantha didn’t know where she was. Her foot was heavy on the pedal, gliding down the open, hilly slopes of the backcountry. Cellphone in one hand; the GPS buffering. Twice already she almost crashed. Approaching out of...

August 9, 1788  Mon Cher D. I told you how much I love honey. Watching it drip from my spoon, into my tea. Its slow sensuality, doucement. Thick as a man's pleasure, clinging... until the last moment. I lose myself in...

sometimes all I want to do is sadcome-on mother fuckersput a label on thatI'm a hard workingblood sweating prickwho'll never take anyone's shitand that's the twistyou'll keep trying to figure me outalways in love with those labelsidentifying the unidentifiableI...