My Cardboard Balcony

Man, time is weird, isn't it? It feels like it's taking forever, and yet, simultaneously, it whizzes by. For example: It feels like yesterday that I was groaning about having eight more weeks of distance learning to teach. Now there are only three weeks left. Um. What? Anyway, for those of you who are friends with me on Facebook, I have started writing a new play! It is a full act in direct response to an earlier piece I wrote that was completely self-loathing in regards to my sexuality. ...Yeah, fuck that. Rewrite! I also got to play Daniel Lewis in OK Zoomer's Reading of I'll Leave It To You. Coward said in the play that he was a bachelor. We all know the truth, my dude. Also, I forgot how fun Jackbox was. Also also, I'm organizing an online prom for Saturday the 23rd, and my new suit came in. And I look fabulous in it. Also also also, it's almost a slew of anniversaries for Arden and me. May 18th is Binx's "Gotcha" Day. May 19th is nine years si

La La La by Belinda Roddie When I cover my ears, I can only hear the echoes of my own words and mistakes, like steel drums rusting yet still screeching when they're struck. I plug everything up, and while the trains are trapped in the tunnels, their wheels won't stop spinning. And their whistles won't stop shrieking. The locomotive, even while immobile, lives. The only kind of music I'll apparently listen to are the ones created by my past demons. When the steel drums are finally too corroded to make a "satisfying" sound. So they'll run their claws across lyre strings and break them, one by one. They'll chew on oboe reeds. They'll blow "Hallelujahs" out of bent bugles and revel in the out-of-tune torture. So I uncover my ears because I can't take the cacophony anymore. Only the noise outside is worse. It is full of breaking bottles, crunching bones. It consists of profanity and crying and end of relationship prophecies. Blood has both

Max Wins by Belinda Roddie Uncle Daniel has money. Uncle Max has maple flavored whiskey.