Sara With No H
June 1, 2010
Of all the dumb things I’ll do today, here are two:
One— Admit that I can’t remember the last name of the first girl I put my fingers inside.
Two—Decide to write a poem about it.
Re: sunday night
April 1, 2010
I like being alone with this music, with the refrigerator and the big TV. It’s ugly music, but I identify. When I walk through my house, I feel like I’m in a horror film. I keep the lights off, except for in the den. I like the excitement of every turn I take possibly being my last.
February 3, 2010
March 1, 2010
Now, both of my grandfathers played huge parts in my life. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t know how to ride a bike, or swim, or appreciate the loony, racist humor of the Peter Sellers version of The Pink Panther. If it wasn’t for them, I never would have known the rough, musky scent of Old Spice. But I don’t know if this is a commentary on men from that generation’s connection with girl children, or girl grandchildren, or if it was just that we all knew they’d die eventually…
My Loose Thread Over Erin Scarum, but Definitely Not “Normal” Over “Straight”
February 1, 2010
Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds” almost always makes someone you know, someone who may or may not be writing this, cry every fucking time, and not necessarily in a good way, and he or she thinks this may not be the true intention of said song
Big Surprise: Popular Fiction Still Sucks, or Jodi Picoult Can Eat a Dick
January 1, 2010
…in all of its 389 pages, there was not one likable character in this piece of shit. Everyone from the parents, to the teachers, to the cops and attorneys, there was not one redeeming—or original!—trait to be found. Not one! In all those pages! How was this possible?
And one other thing. How was it possible that I was unable to put this book down, compelled by all of its fictional atrocities?
Rollin’ Down the Street, Smokin’ Indo With Little Miss Grab-and-Pull: Laid Back With Elizabeth Lambert
December 1, 2009
But this line of argument is so played. Everyone knows that women are—will always be—treated differently, especially women that display aggression and remorselessness.
Seven Deadly Sins Committed Before 11:00 a.m., Devil Rejoices
November 1, 2009
I anticipate, and will appreciate, your utmost confidence, for this is something I’ve never shared with anyone: I own three—three!—Otep albums. For those of you unfamiliar with Otep, I’ll delight in your ignorance, but for those of you wagging your fingers at your monitors and laughing like hyenas, I blush in your general direction.
For the [...]
Boom, Boom, Pow, or How Maggie Almost Got Hers
October 1, 2009
…the Maggie I had known for years—her dry wit, her sarcasm, her really big vocabulary I was always impressed by—and left this lifeless being that still used her voice. I don’t think there’s a word for this. Maybe eviscerated. Maybe zombified.
And then on a Friday night, a couple days after New Year’s, she called me and said, “I need your help. I’m going to blow up Bert’s car.”
True or False: I Am the Reason My Niece and Nephew Will Have to Wear Gasmasks at Their Children’s Graduation Ceremonies
September 1, 2009
In my kitchen, there is a stainless steel trashcan with a foot pedal that pops its top, and it’s here, at this very moment, when everything around me comes to a temporary standstill, not entirely dissimilar to Wile E. Cyote’s pre-plummet freeze in time.
It is interrupted, more times than not, by the same voice saying the same thing: “What are you doing?”
Me and Escape, or Escape and I
August 27, 2009
Escape and I are tight, like the best of friends from way back when. We haven’t given up old habits, either, like beating the shit out of each other in the sandbox—and over what was it? Who remembers. But I do remember this: In the end, it was always one of us getting our wrists [...]
About this author
On the eve of her 30th birthday, Angela Tavares found black metal, and life has been awesomely grim ever since. When she’s not walking the forests on cold winter nights or crafting inverted crosses with twigs and twine, she’s writing a novel, like everyone else you know. On an unrelated note, she talks for every animal she meets, a habit she’s finding hard to quit, and loves Greek yogurt.