Words fall from my fingertips during an absurd time of human existence.
Category: photos
Art: Let it Go
Sometimes you just have to let shit go, no matter how deep the burn.
Ruminations: Anniversaries, Adulting and Snuggling with Tina Fey
Yesterday would have been my great-grandfather’s 118th birthday and my 26th wedding anniversary. The day before yesterday would have been Nana and PawPaw’s 74th anniversary? Whoa. I was a young thing when I got married, and it only lasted a couple of years. But I will say it was a learning experience. I have…
Ruminations: Seattle: Coffee, Donuts and Another Life
Two days ago was National Donut Day. We have decent (actually really good) donuts in Lafayette, but certain foods oftentimes taste better when you have memories to attach them to. When I was little, I really loved Shipley Do-Nuts in Alexandria. Not only were they packed with sugar plus jam or icing or creamy stuff, but…
Prose: Summoning Seattle
Even though it’s a balmy 1,000 degrees out in South Louisiana, today I will be summoning my inner Seattle. Memories, so many. Feels like yesterday. We were all hangin’ patchouli’d-out, cloves-in, at Ernie Steele’s. Where were you? Living in the 90s. Drum beats. Wood floors. Vampires in my bed. “You’re life’s just like Singles,” she…
Prose: Silent America
Senses are heightened. Look around. Notice. I push the radio off button, roll down the windows and soak up the humidity. A faint cool breeze chills my left shoulder, tickling thoughts of early mornings, Mom driving me to the mill where the yellow school bus waited for me. The air thick with the scent of…
Ruminations: Paris, My Love
I had no idea how long we’d been on the bus, only that I’d fallen asleep somewhere in-between the rolling green peas and our emergence into the City of Light. The boat-lag oscillated between my head and stomach while my eyes opened to a fraction of the enchanted view I’d only previously seen through French…
Prose: Friday 13, Locked, Loaded and Le Tired
Crusty eyes, if I lay here for a little while longer. What time is it? Shit, the clock. That’s it. Framed ax-yielding reflections and another sex joke. Hard to swallow, this head of mine. Walking shoes on. Hoodie zipped. Ear buds in. Gone girl. The rain beat me to it. A few minutes’ reprieve. Buzz…
Prose: Driving Home
I try to see, but not. It’s 6:14am. Nana slings open her bedroom door. She’s later than normal. I pop out of the twin bed in what should be the dining room and limp my way into hers. I’m still feeling the effects a fairly middle-aged woman might after too much dancing, whatever that means,…
Prose: Sweet Bitters
I wanted to say something profound, but nothing came out. “Ma’am, would you like to stop police brutality?” Ma’am? “Yes, but not now.” “Not now?! But it has to start now!” Her voice trailed off as I scuffed down St. Mark’s and over to the #6, only to be transported down to Brooklyn Bridge, up,…
Anne-Julia Price 