Track Lighting

This is the really beautiful sketchbook that my roommate and best friend made for me. It's got neon salmon-colored pages. So it looks a lot like a watermelon in some sense, which I thoroughly enjoy:

I'm starting a little zine because I feel like it's finally the right time. (Funny that now is the "right time", given I've only got a little over two months to make work for my BFA hahah...ahhh) There will inevitably be some overlap between what turns up in there, and what I post here. That in mind I wanted to preview a small section of writing I made to include in my first issue. I think I often worry that my writing is to confessional. I guess I shouldn't spend too much time thinking about that.

I sat alone in the dark for a long time that night. I smacked my lips and said my own name out loud. I turned my stale gum inside out and snapped it across my front teeth. It tasted sour and spent. I stared off the porch, into the street, and past the houses just across the way. A train went by just beyond them and I welcomed the low shrieking of the wheels as it came and went in steady swells. A bead of sweat broke from my forehead and cut quickly down across my open eye. The salty stream burned as I tried to blink the dirty water free. I noticed the weathered rubber tips of your sneakers against the dry dead grass at my own feet. Lid closed, I massaged the corner of my left eye with the heal of my soiled palm. You asked my why I was still crying. I said, “fuck you” out loud and spit the small tacky wad I’d been grinding between my teeth at your worn black chucks. Nothing echoed and I didn’t look up. You put your foot down where my gum had landed and flattened it absent-mindedly across the pavement.