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Blood Tangent | Column

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

Blood Tangent | Column

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

Blood Tangent | Column

“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

Blood Tangent | Column

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

Blood Tangent | Column

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

Blood Tangent | Column

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

Blood Tangent | Column

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

Blood Tangent | Column

I woke up to the rattling bass of trap music from my nearly blown-out computer speakers. I checked my phone; I woke up before my alarm again. It was supposed to be a normal Friday. I shuffled into my practically microscopic bathroom to straighten my hair,

Blood Tangent | Column

  My phone will buzz. I will ignore every call. The screen will light up. “Call me, it’s about Mimi,” the text will read. When I read it, I will most likely be in the midday shadows of my apartment, the droning of a television