Categories
Dangerous Compassions

insomnia

“Yes, I’m listening to Hong Kong electronica!  What of it!?” I demanded of Ming. “I didn’t say nothin,’” Ming said. “Listen!” I said.  I was dancing in the bedroom, on the squishy mat.  He glanced at my shelf and left.  He had his headphones half-on and was listening to music on his own. sleep I… Read More »

Categories
Dangerous Compassions

curse of the writer

“You’re the one slinging accusations of purity, not me!” Ming just read me from a facebook argument, which I found funny.  “How do you sling an accusation of purity?” I asked.  “Wouldn’t that be nothing?  Like slinging air?”  The idea of snow.  The idea of a fluffy cloud. He mentioned a friend who specializes in… Read More »