Death tells me to embrace the shifts that make us who we are. Death tells me that we have to feel the hurt us so deeply that we become magnets to softness and delight.
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The Tattoo That Began as a Declaration of Love Is Now a Memorial
Lauren Spinabelli is a writer from Pittsburgh, currently living in Brooklyn, New York. My work has been published in Elite Daily, Luna Luna, Strangelet Journal, and Bop Dead City.
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Photo by Monique Quintana
Necromancy For Your Grandmother's Hands
Bluish, you find the stone. They are the diamonds she once told you about...
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Clem Onojeghuo
The Car Goes First: On My Father's Death
When I was 12, I came home to discover my father’s car with its doors flung open. From the front seats, two pairs of legs stretched onto the pavement. The radio was on low, and I could hear laughter followed by a clink of glass on glass. This was how my father celebrated an ersatz out-of-body death, five years prior to the real thing.
Read More4 Ways You Can Be a Mental Health Advocate & Ally
What does being a mental health ally and advocate mean? It means having empathy for others, raising awareness around mental illnesses, and breaking down negative stereotyping. When we write about mental health, especially when we write personal narratives about people we know, it is imperative to be empathetic, and to look at all the angles—to approach from a “human first” point of view.
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via Simeon Mihov
How David Bowie Took a Girl to Mars & Beyond
As a kid, I was always conscious of David Bowie. Just like you're conscious of Elvis Presley, the Beatles, Back to the Future, or the Mona Lisa. He was something that always existed. He was the world, the moon, the glittering stars, and even the black holes.
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via Roger Ebert
David Bowie: The Man Who Fell to Earth
David Bowie was born two days after me and thirty-nine years earlier.
When "The Next Day" was announced on David’s birthday back in 2013, I remember crying for an hour while listening to “Where Are We Now?” on loop, half under the covers in my bed in Brooklyn, memorizing the lyrics. I was in awe that he had returned to music, that he had kept it so secret.
I did the same when Blackstar was announced.
I’ve been waiting for the vinyl to arrive in the mail. It was supposed to arrive before the release date, before David Bowie’s 69th birthday. I was supposed to put it on the turntable and turn up the dial, lose myself in the joy of another unexpected album.
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