My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie The candy corn was alive. And it was most offended that I don't like candy corn. I tried to tell it it tasted like day-old earwax, but it was just not having it, bro. "'Ey, fuck you, dawg," it said to me. "Fuck you. But also, fuck you. And finally, fuck you. Do you know who I am, bitch?" "...a poor excuse for Halloween candy?" " Fuck you." "Look, there are plenty of others that are happy to eat candy corn. I just think it's worse than licking a cat's asshole." "Oh, yeah? You like licking cat's assholes, buddy? Is that what you're sayin'?" "N-no. I used it as a negative alternative." "'Ey, fuck you! Cat asshole licker! Horny pervert cat asshole licking biiiiitch!" "Damn, dude," I said. "What made you such a potty mouth?" "Bitches like you, bro!" "Okay, besides me," I groaned. The candy corn thought about it before respo...

Full Moon Fuzz by Belinda Roddie Don't call me the Wolfman. I just hate shaving, okay?

Another week down. And what a week it was. I observed Yom Kippur. I started rebuilding the Gender Sexuality Alliance (GSA) at the school I work at. I finished my latest full-act play. I collaborated with a SPED teacher to run two PD sessions about adolescent psychology and building healthy social/emotional habits - that was pretty awesome. I participated in an open mic night with OK Zoomer. Arden and I are still house hunting. OK Zoomer's Board of Directors is having its first official meeting on Sunday. I'm building up my costume arsenal because I'm a nerd. I'm already planning to write another short play for funsies. I have lots of grading to do. Also, Trump has COVID-19. California is on fire again. It's Halloween time. How are y'all holding up? Have a great night and a great weekend, everyone.

Blacklist by Belinda Roddie Allow me to tell the following people I used to love to go fuck themselves: Fuck you, J.K. Rowling. Fuck you, John Cleese. Fuck you, Robbie Coltrane. Fuck you, Eddie Redmayne. I want none of your transphobic nonsense. Who's next, assholes?

Gentlespirit by Belinda Roddie The ghost didn't appreciate being called spooky - "I'm quite demure!"

A Neon Inferno by Belinda Roddie The rainbow was bronzed by a somber and smoky sunset.

California Is Burning by Belinda Roddie The old man with brown satin skin played the marimba until the cops shooed him away (at least they shooed him and didn't shoot him). I had loved the rhythm and intonations, like I was back on my home island, the waves kissing my ankles as tenderly as a forlorn lover consuming too much salt. Bloated, tired, I slept now under dead oaks, smoking skies, and warmer yesterdays.