The Profundity of Rapture
Here is a story that tells itself from time to time. Its title is Eman. Eman is not afraid to create. Please don't rob this realm of her sacred texts. - E.A.
“The world doesn’t need any more hot chicks or tough guys or smooth-talkers — the world needs more you. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
- Bo Burnham
“Influenced by that week’s study, Vo, Meriah, and I made a pact to be radically stylish and cause trouble…for bold and righteous reasons, that is…like in the name of The Downtrodden Man.”
I keep on threatening to send my roommate a picture of a placenta. I’ll give the e-mail a really innocuous subject, like “This Fridge for Our Dorm Next Semester?,” and then she’ll open it and behold the graphic sight of a big, red, meaty, veiny, bloody placenta.
She just needs to see it. It is…her time.
…sometimes in the stables, while I was grooming a male horse - let’s call him “Roanie” - the horse would start to, uh, dangle his thing, and one of the instructors would see and yell, “ROANIE!!! ROAAA-NIEEE! PUT ITAWAY!!!” Then she’d smack his hindquarters with a crop, and he’d quickly slide his thing back in.
Good times.
Carrying a medium coffee in my bladder. It hurts a bit.
Red tin foil
Curls around this shimmering sphere of thought
Crackling in the night
Speaking in its purple voice
Alone
