By Jeff Walsh
With his acoustic album "Motorcycle Childhood," Tyson Meade uses spare arrangement and raw vocals to share details of his life. It's very different from his other role as the openly gay lead singer of the Chainsaw Kittens, where he used to take to the stage in lipstick, tights and mini-skirts.
By Janis Ian
In a small town somewhere at the foot of the Appalachian Mountains, teachers prepare for the coming semester. Professors grimly consult lesson plans, breaking in new Dockers ("I still wear the same size I wore when I graduated," they brag, bellies hanging over their straining waistlines like blubber off Ahab's whaler). Dormitories are surrounded by troops of exterminators bent on eradicating last year's mess before the health department shows up for a final check. The grounds are infested with newly arrived victims, ready to give the university their all and terrified that anything beyond the boundaries of the parents' homes will eat them alive. If they only knew.
By Janis Ian
I am standing with my tit caught in a wringer while a mall-haired technician tells me to relax. I am thinking that if men had to put their testicles in a vise as part of a yearly physical, we would have a cure for the common cold by now. I am very frightened.
The pink slip came as we were leaving on vacation: "We have found what appears to be a routine abnormality..." What's routine about an abnormality? I decide to put on a brave front and joke that in all my life no one has ever called me routine; then I burst into tears. Later on I do the grown-up thing and panic, furtively examining my breasts in the mirror for changes. I'm afraid that if I touch them to check for lumps, I will set something off. I wish they were smaller. I wish they were removable. I wish they were on anyone but me.
Early January thas year, 2013, I introduced myself to the world of masturbation.. First I loved it. I'm 14 by the way. Then I started feeling guilty about it, I felt like if I just died, I'the go to hell.. I tried my best to stop but I just colud not.. So please if you have any tips.. Do share..
Points of interest:
-The German scholarship rejected me
-Contrariwise, I entered another contest, this time for $1000, an essay contest on open government. We'll see...
-I've had several revolutions in thought since when I was last here
-I joined the Frisbee team
-I have a possible boyfriend prospect, but one that I'm not so much interested in
-I recently did the Day of Silence
-I'm currently 300 pages into War and Peace... Almost a quarter of the way...
*inspired by the song "Lover's Spit" by Broken Social Scene.
Golden red, your arms were a sinewy fence around
my form as we sat on the fire escape overlooking
a schizophrenic town.
Your lips tickled my cheek and I stroked the back
of your head, twisting
my fingers in your burnt wheat-colored strands.
"Remember when we used to get excited over
the smallest things," I asked.
"Like kissing awkwardly and
stumbling through doorways,
dragging in the scent of fresh
cut grass and angel's sweat?"
"Yeah," you said. "But let's play it out again,
baby, before Philadelphia
Thanks to all who read and left notes for my first journal entry, it's great to know that people here understand and care.
I've decided, with the urging of my brothers, to write a separate journal about how each of us met, which will lead to how we ended up being brothers.
I was three when my mom died, and honestly I don't remember her much. Fortunately we have lots of pictures of her, but otherwise she's just an illusion to me.
This will likely "strike home" for more than just a few Oasies™. The longing to be important in the life of another is well portrayed!