I am at a lecture. A lot of the people here are old, but I am kind of young. I am eighteen, which is young but not young like people say I am. I have not been twelve for six years, and when I take off my clothes, don’t say I look so young. I will not put out. Anyway. I am going to a lecture and when I reach to pull up my pants in the bathroom stall, I realize I’m not wearing underwear. I’m not wearing underwear, and I’m not wearing a belt, and probably the man who was sitting behind me (who is old) will see my ass when I sit down again. Everyone is dressed nicely except for me and my bare ass. I am only at this lecture because Kevin sometimes looks like a puppy. This is a narrative, kind of. This is a kind of narrative.

The Great Drying-Up is coming.
I can feel it in
the way I’m beginning...

It’s hard to miss the flyers across campus proclaiming our need of a Center for Abstinence and Chastity. Hotly contested articles in the Prince and a weeklong lecture series on the subject, spearheaded by Robbie George, further increase the prominence of the debate. Proponents for the Center argue that ...

When I catch sight of my stitches in periphery, I think they are hairs growing out of my wrist, like black wiry hairs growing out of a mole or on the jaw lines of women. Then I think of Marie, whose name I thought was Murray at first because of ...