My Cardboard Balcony

Cooking The Books by Belinda Roddie Listen: I've got an appetite that just won't quit me. I'm deliberately tracking my steps to the bookstore and back with a new novel pressed against the nape of my neck. My blood sugar's low, and the polyphagia bites into my gut like a steel-jawed trap making meat out of my lower intestines. It ties my soul up in knots, and with every word and silly phrase, I want to gobble up every page, taste the ink, and swallow the pulp, hiccuping as I force myself to digest it: I am hungry, and I need to read. I need the truth stamped on everybody's crackling spine so when I open them up, they don't have a single secret that I can't find. I'll inject poetry like insulin, stave off the textual diabetes with a paper and pen. If I can't eat enough of others' stories, I'll serve up my own cuisine to keep my brain plump rather than mean and lean. Listen: If you've got a tale to regale me with, ...

Louise thought Naveen was going to the Milkweed Parlor concert with her, but instead, when she knocked on the door, his beautiful sister answered. She was already dressed for the occasion: Leather jacket, tight jeans, hoop earrings. Her tank top had the band's logo blazing across it like hot fire. Louise felt her collar tighten. She sweated under her coat. "Um...is Naveen here?" she asked. His beautiful sister smiled a toothy smile and produced a ticket from her jacket. "You're stuck with me, babe."

So yes, I was involved in the conspiracy...to a certain, subtle degree. I wasn't the one calling the shots, nor the one on the frontlines, holding the gun. I wasn't the one in front of the computer, typing up mantras and fascist slogans to hold the rabid sheep at bay. Instead, I wear my suit, I shook hands at parties, and I made everyone comfortable. Very, very comfortable.

by Belinda Roddie I love you very much, but do you really have to stand right where I need to see? Right where the stampede leaves the sand kicked up in clusters of threes and fours? Do you really have to block my view of the revolution - the one just outside my window? Can you observe their rallies better than I can? Can you take notes in your mind? Archive the slogans in your memories? Feel the fury pulse in your veins like overly oxygenated blood? Do you hear them condemn the emperor as well as I can from the corner? I adore you with all my heart, but must you obstruct my line of sight when the phantoms are convening in front of the castle, and they have weapons sharper and stronger than pitchforks? I can hear their wailing, but watching them swarm will give me better context. Context that you deprive from me when you decide to sidle in front of me. I am a phantom. My skin is cold from so many anxious nights. I want to punch the evil out of angry people's skulls. I want ...

"You're a liar." "True." "And a fraud." "Also true." "And a poor excuse for a human being." She raised one finger. "Actually, I resent that." "Beg pardon?" "I may be a liar," she intoned with a smile, "and a fraud, but I'm pretty sure I'm a pretty decent human being. You know, anatomically and physiologically and the like. I think my body's pretty well constructed human being-wise."

You guys ever heard of a mukbang, or meokbang? It's apparently this online trend where people eat on camera for their fans. I'm not exactly focused on the actual substance of a mukbang, though - I just freaking love the word. I love language, guys. I love wordplay and semantics and colloquialisms and prose and poetry. I love the way vocabulary has expanded and changed throughout history and across cultures. I love how we incorporate words from other languages into our own dialect and just go to town. The slang, the regional phrases, all that - it just reminds me of why I love writing and speaking and music and performance because language is a part of all that. It's what separates us from every other living creature on this tiny planet. I guess what I'm trying to say here is...is that I'm really tired, guys. I'm exhausted. By everything. This week was really long, and really difficult to get through. I'm not going to get too into the political bullshit...

You Cannot Silence Me by Belinda Roddie I'm not your enemy simply because I report the truth.