My Beautiful Obsession, Chapter Eight, part five

  Several hallways spoke off from this room, and she takes me down a long, glass-panel-lined one, looking out on the trees and stars, to the dining room, with its opulent, contemporary furnishings. It’s even bigger than the one at her apartment, with a table that’s bigger than my own bed, all beveled glass and…

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My Beautiful Obsession, Chapter Eight, part four

    Lark leads me back out to the foyer, and then off to the right, down a couple steel-and-concrete steps, into a huge sitting room, or, I guess you’d call it a “great room” in a house like this. There’s an enormous gas fireplace set in smooth steel along one wall, flames dancing behind…

Rethinking Call-Outs, part two

This is the scariest bit. I have to address, in part, those doing the call-outs. I have to in some ways speak directly to black people, to people of color, to already-disenfranchised people. I have to speak even with every terror that what I say will yet again be twisted, taken out of context, or…

My Beautiful Obsession, Chapter Eight, part one

Chapter Eight Downstairs, in a brightly-lit underground garage, Lark leads me past a row of gleaming automobiles, a half-dozen of them. It’s like a luxury showroom, and even I recognize several of the most exclusive automobiles known to man, all pristine silvers and blacks: a Porsche Panamera Executive, a Lamborghini Veneno, a convertible Jaguar XJR,…

Re-Thinking the Culture of Call Outs

My darlings, I’m going to say it: I think I’m done with call-out culture. I know. I’m an activist, a feminist, a member of multiple social organizations, a regular demonstrator/marcher, and an outspoken advocate for LGBTQ+ rights, #BLM, disability awareness re: depression, anxiety, and suicidal impulses, not to mention against pretty much everything the current…

My Beautiful Obsession, Chapter Seven, part three

  I’m still carrying the sneakers, a sleek, fancy pair of high-end Adidas, when I exit the lavatory, and I bend to put them on while leaning against the doorframe. “There,” I announce, almost defiantly. “I’m ready.” “You’re hair’s damp,” she says reprovingly. “I hope you don’t get sick.” “I didn’t think going out with…