I met with Asaf Goren in the apartment of his friend Guy, whose couch he used to sleep on, to discuss the release of his first album, Rachel.
Gather us all on this festive occasion to consume the ingredients of the celebration. Family, supper, moonlight, spirits; daggers, demons, desolation. Soon as the caps come off of their flasks, ghosts emerge to fulfill their tasks. Heartbreak, horror, hopelessness, all drown beneath delighted masks. The smell of revelry, naseates from each breath whose… Continue reading Drink Paraphernalia
Oh, what a tease is He! Who dangles the prospect of love in front of your nose and swipes it out from under you in a movement so swift, like a thief of the night.
Ah, read receipts—the virtual signifiers of acknowledgement we love to hate. (And for the peasants who have no idea what I’m talking about, feel free to take your inferior posteriors off this page.) Read receipts have a bad reputation for making people feel ignored and insignificant. And for those of us who have been “left… Continue reading Let’s Talk About Read Receipts
I wasn't planning on talking about this at all today (stay tuned for my next post about read receipts), but a conversation with a foreigner I met recently really got me thinking about my identity as a Los Angeles native. My new friend's words were, more or less, the following: "I've noticed that the people… Continue reading Bubbles Were Meant to be Popped
Slabs of immense lime tell a story in themselves of a people born in blessing, displaced, and back again. The air is thick with the low murmur of prayers, praise, and passion of flowing tears salty as the Dead Sea split as the sexes scarves to the right and skullcaps to the left. Messages of… Continue reading History Set in Stone