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Blackberry PickingBy Kaylin Kaupish QuailBellMagazine.com We had to wait until late in the summer. After the sun had already given us back our freckles. It was hotter, even though autumn was so close. Like a fever that has to break. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Being Autosexual & Autoromantic While FatI am autosexual and autoromantic. I am also fat. Here are some thoughts on being fat while also being sexually and romantically attracted to myself.
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RIP Aretha Franklin: Soul and Live at Fillmore WestBy Christopher Sloce QuailBellMagazine.com The closest thing to a seance I've ever been a part of I took part in for the sake of a pitch. I laid in my bedroom and listened to Aretha Franklin, now departed's, incandescent Aretha Live at Fillmore West in the dark. I closed my eyes and thought a little in a way that's not dissimilar to the way I approach the times I've gone to Quaker services that partake in silent worship. Of course, I was listening to Aretha burn down Bill Graham's legendary venue so it wasn't entirely silent, and I did end up going to the Wikipedia page, where I learned that the Dean of Critics, the crusty but respectable Robert Christagau gave this album a B, and some anonymous dipshit in Rolling Stone gave it a MIXED review. This is the part of the review where you also learn I'm willing to fight an old man for musical opinions. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Someone Who WritesI recently completed an MFA at a Creative Writing program, having convinced myself that it was perhaps time to do a course in something that comes naturally to me. Never mind that the naturalness of my writing is something that is fraught—there have been several periods during which I have been unable to write, periods when, in fact, I’ve been too sick to write; periods in which I have only been able to essay one or the other mode of writing.
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A Promise in the WindThe steel-gray helicopter floated onto the tarmac; its skids set directly center on the landing grid. Doors whooshed open as paramedics jumped out to take control of the situation and prepare the patient for flight.
I stood next to the gurney, white knuckling the steel rimmed body bed that cushioned my best friend. His withered hand adhered to mine like they were glued in place. Luke, his son, leaned against me and placed his own hand on ours. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Running from the Napalm: 8/12 A Year RemovedBy Anonymous QuailBellMagazine.com I wrote this from the comfort of my own home in Richmond. I can't go to demonstrations, positive or negative, anymore. I don't feel right writing under my own name. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Beauty MarkBy Lenora Murphy QuailBellMagazine.com I was born covered in fair, white skin and blond hair. As a toddler, my ringlets would bounce as I bobbled around and laughed and my cheeks flushed as I smiled.
I was considered cute by most. But eventually, ugly by myself. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
My Experience With Samael The ArchangelDo you believe in angels? I was always curious about angels. I didn’t fully believe in them until the archangel Samael visited me in a dream and warned me about a death in my future.
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You Wanna’ Be in the Room Where It Happens All hell broke loose one morning late February when over 70,000 D.C. theatergoers tried to get into heaven—meaning, the online box office of the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. Three years after opening on Broadway, Hamilton: An American Musical was finally coming to the nation’s capital. Starting in June, Lin-Manuel Miranda’s mega-hit creation about the “ten-dollar Founding Father,” from his birth in the Caribbean to his final infamous duel, would call the city home. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Mermaid DaysMy hair swirls around me as soft as angel’s wings, twirling like leaves on a breezy day. Moving my limbs, I move, ever so slowly. The ocean’s tides push and pull. It pulls me down into its inky depths and pushes as I swim, letting the water churn around me. I exist as a fish, a mermaid. No thoughts, no worries. Just myself. A simple being gliding through the waves. The sunlight bends and breaks as it hits the water, sending ripples of color dancing. The liquid trickles in my ears, causing a sound not unlike that of the voice of a seashell. The ocean speaks to me. It’s a gentle hum like the soft calls of seagulls at daybreak. My body rises to the surface, my face breaks free, and my lungs gulp in the salty sea air. I am free. |
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