Bonnie Smith20 February 2016
I have a few bones to pick with winter. Granted, I love getting to hide my comfort food weight gain under layers of black clothes. I also love Wynter Gordon (‘Dirty Talk’ is a bop), but that’s a whole other thing.
“They’re called barn doors,” she tells me.
I’ll leave my bones behind to pry you from His greedy hands and greet you again, with greedy hands of my own.
I read somewhere that moths use moonbeams to guide them back to their nests at night.
Stephanie Choo wraps her head around concussions.
A short story by Candy James-Zoccoli.
Max PH explains why he doesn’t like your favourite song
A poem written about Carolyn Huane.
Speaking with members of the college system, it’s not difficult to find traces of hypermasculinity within Australian university culture.
Who am I and what am I doing here? Am I here at all, and if not, where the hell am I?
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