I stand on the dance floor at Ophelia’s, watching the people around me—mostly guys in hip clothes trolling for girls in hip clothes and everyone bobbing to the beat. On stage a guy called Panda Say What is playing. He and my friends, who go
Blood Tangent is coming to an end. And I guess I am moving on to bigger and better things—but I’m not sure, definitely not cured, a little allured, and maybe a bit more matured. Over the past four years I’ve gone to more shows than
I think the tragedies that really make my blood turn cold are the things that could literally happen to anyone, at anytime, or in any place. The chances are I’m not going to be a victim of a cult or get trapped on top of a
There’s this scene in Purple Rain (1984) when Prince’s love interest, Apollonia, is in his basement bedroom and switches on the tape player. A warped and lethargic drum beat echoes against what sounds like a woman moaning or crying. “So who’s the lucky girl?” Apollonia
I live right off Colfax, which welcomes a slew of interesting experiences into any resident’s daily life—especially in my alleyway. From the front of my apartment, everything looks kind of quaint, Victorian, and a generally nice place to live—but from the back it could be completely
“Do you still have your blink-182 shirt?” I text my older sister while simultaneously looking for their early 2000s merch, listening to the blink-182 playlist on Youtube, and skipping all the sad songs because I’m not trying to cry tonight. Enema Of The State was
The dark circles around my eyes really bring out the hazel in them, my chapped lips bring out the crooked whiteness of my teeth. I’m eating dairy-free ice cream for breakfast, baby food and handfuls of dry cereal for lunch. I’m not really into nutrition
Being a tween in the early 2000s was pretty tame. We didn’t grow up with the hottest couple being Kurt and Courtney or Keith Richards and Anita Pallenberg—it was Joe Jonas and Demi fucking Lovato. When I was a young little punk in my own
A body is fragile. It can be bruised, slashed, pricked, torn, burned; it becomes stiff and frigid; things fall apart. I should have died the moment I was born. Three months premature and born with an infection. “You went through hell and back,” my dad
The only thing I have written down since I put off writing this column (even though I have been awake from the hours of 1 to 4 a.m. and have nothing else to do) is a quote from a Frederick Seidel poem and some ramblings