My Cardboard Balcony

Okay. Let's break down a litany of thoughts and brief updates: Sometimes, the best stories you tell are real ones. BLM is still here. It ain't going away. Keep promoting and amplifying black voices. Play readings are my life blood. Cats go zoom while I'm on Zoom. I'm glad to be tapping back into my playwright side. Burritos are delicious. With 2020 on fire, sometimes you need to take a break for dog hug videos. And Jackbox. And good old fashioned conversation. The best kind of validation is the kind you just do naturally, not expecting anyone to thank you for it. Fuck Trump. No, seriously. Fuck Trump. Black Lives Matter. This ain't a vacation for me. I'm not dropping this topic as soon as the protests wrap up. It's on, Capitol Hill turds. Have a great night and a great weekend, everyone.

Don't Call Me Princess by Belinda Roddie Little Addison was bored in her tower. She had read all her books, her mother wouldn't let her go outside because of the rain, and her cat Stevie was going mad and needed to calm all six of his tits. And she hated being called princess. She didn't feel like royalty in her little suburban castle, and all the white kids living nearby didn't treat her like royalty, either. The white kids played their video games and pretended to be knights, but they would never set up a throne for her. Nor would they curtsy to her. To them, she was never meant to be anything more than a subordinate to them. They didn't matter. Addison was beautiful, and her curls would look divine beneath a crown. But she refused to be called a princess: "Don't," she'd warn her father after he came home ragged from his office job. "I only go by Queen." Once the rain stopped, Little Addison would go outside and survey her domain. All t

My Heart Beats by Belinda Roddie You may hate, but I still have a neon pulse.