“The broken bottle sits lodged in the front of me even when she lets go. I pull it out, all of it, like a fish from water or a metaphor from a metaphor and I bleed like torn prey. Hours later, I pluck loose shards from my lower belly.” my husband writes good 🥰

Jack’s essay, “We Feral Few,” is out now in Passengers! @jackmaes.bsky.social www.passengersjournal.com/volume-5-issue-4-prose/#maes

We were so excited to send in our nominations this morning! 💙📚📝🧵 The first piece we nominated: “In Which Michael Myers' Remains are Distributed Across the U.S. in Neatly Wrapped Parcels of Ground Meat” by Sarp Sozdinler (come on, tell me that title doesn’t intrigue you) www.fastflesh.net/myers

Same world same everything, except my teacher ID where my hair looks like Jimmy Neutron is treated like the American Express Black card. Respect the work.

Today my son has made it clear to me that the two greatest horrors of existence are falling asleep and waking up. Trapped farts are a close third

A reminder today to my fellow educators that we do imperative work for so many young people. Work that, some days, only we put full focus on, but that brings humanity closer to itself, to knowledge, and to critical thought. Thank you for being teachers. It is one of the top five punkest jobs

Guys it’s been a day on this platform and I already found a cool graph for my students, choked on my spit in a public restroom from laughing at a post, and don’t hate myself or others. Is this what hope for humanity feels like?

Sometimes I chuckle gently at something while my baby is asleep, and he wakes from sleep and does not go back to sleep and makes heinous faces and wretched moans like “WHY IN THE FRESH HELL HAVE YOU SUMMONED ME, FATHER?” and I tell him I’m sorry for ever having felt joy

I already always hated twitter, so this is an easy switch. Power to the people, all the people, the lovely people