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Tuesday, April 27, 2010


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A perfect portrait of alcoholism.

Blisteringly angry and beautiful. The way it evolves from the fragile and lovely "light as honeysuckle and bright as foil stars" to the rage and physicality of "perched beside him in hell"...

This is like watching a grenade explode in a crowded room.

This? This is my kind of party.

Brilliant, love. You write like fire in the belly.

Your stories have a way of sweeping the reader along in their current, and then splattering her on the unseen canyon wall.

I mean this in a good way.

And... I quit.

Actually, in truth, I just made a pinky swear with myself to try harder, to do like Jett does. The sneak attack of your writing is like an orgasm in my brain.

Oh my everloving god. You rock so beautifully.

You are all so sweet to me and --hand to God-- spur me on.

I do love you so.

Girl, you started like sweet spring morning then hit us with an F-5 tornado. Awesome piece.

I've sat here for 10 minutes trying to comment. This time, I really can't. You've left me SPEECHLESS.

I hope you realize how hard, nigh impossible, that is to do.

i know your trying to sneak up on people, but there ain't no way to languidly stand. you can move listlessly, you can sing listlessly, you can etc. you can't not move languidly.
"My cousin Amelia languidly stood there, young enough for her mouth to still be filled with innocent words. Looking tired was her form of grief, I suppose." this works out loud. on paper, not so much. you can start with your cousin amelia singing from a perfect oval. you want to grab em with the first track. slap em on the side of the head and move on to the meat.

I beg to differ with you. The dictionary does, as well.

I'm not really 'trying' to do anything but take measured, correctly-spelled steps toward the edge before sailing off of it. If a reader happens to be crablegged to my back while I'm doing so, then so be it.

It's about time you showed up here, you old sot.

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