A Notebook of Living Things

A Simple Suggestion

There was a Buzzfeed quiz circling around the internet that would, after asking a series of deeply personal questions involving passions, pet peeves, and sleep patterns, deduce, with little margin for error, the definitive type of pizza topping that described you. The pizza toppings range from cheese, the blandest, to more obscure combinations like pineapple and sun-dried tomatoes, and all came as the result of a well-ordered system of yes or no questions. Continue Reading


Black Memory


Tulsa, Oklahoma is a city that arches over itself like a gymnast, constantly contorting to fit the idealism of the American heartland. Its persona bends and twists as the city rewrites and re-publicizes, grasping at floating sparks of relevance like children after dandelion seeds. It wants to be. I sympathize with it. Continue Reading

Sub-Prime Treehouse

My parents bought their first home when I was seven. We previously lived in an apartment, a one floor ranch, a one floor ranch across the street with a broken Jacuzzi, and a half a double in the bad side of town. Continue Reading

To Be of Anger

Last month, my friend started some shit on the internet. Unfortunate. But not unexpected. Ever since the nomination, he has embraced fire and brimstone as brothers and set about the obliteration of all racism. I respect his fervor. I respect his fire. Continue Reading

The Condensed First Date Memories of Someone Who Messed a Lot of them Up

The time delay in human vision is 180 milliseconds. It can be tested with a light switch. Stand up. Turn it off. Turn it on. Count the milliseconds. Wardle did. Wardle does. Wardle is a professor, well-represented by his name. I imagine he wobbles. Wardle wobbles. He’s an ecologist who teaches physics in New Zealand with LED lights and the kind drinking straws that bend. Continue Reading

Chanel No. 8

The second floor of the garage smells like wood chippings and a dead thing. The garage looks better without everything my family can’t fit in the house. Everything my family can’t fit in the house looks better without a quarter-inch layer of dust. The garage smells better without the dead thing. Continue Reading

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