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Read More, Read Better

Many of us are looking for more ways to enjoy our time at home in these stressful circumstances. Some of us have turned to books. But how can we make sure we get the most out of them?

Keep reading

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This Monster is recognized by the rose-colored glasses they’re never without. Because of their rosy view of the world, they don’t spend a lot of time critically thinking about the media messages they consume and create. Are you a Gullible Giant? The first step to turning back into a human is admitting it. Visit StopMediaMonsters.com to learn more. 

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أَثَـر الوِقايَـة.

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Have you noticed everyone’s been acting oddly when they interact with media lately? Media Monsters have taken over, and we’re here to help. Stay tuned to our channels to learn how to spot and fight monster behavior… 

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Really fun edit by photographer Alexandra @chertulova⁣ .⁣ .⁣ .⁣ posted on Instagram - https://instagr.am/p/CGKi5gBFHuI/

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Tattoo flash by LAM Hamilton.

Insta: @lamhamilton xx

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Tattoo flash by LAM Hamilton.

Insta: @lamhamilton xx

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Tattoo flash by LAM Hamilton.

Insta: @lamhamilton xx

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Tattoo flash by LAM Hamilton.

Insta: @lamhamilton xx

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Tattoo flash by LAM Hamilton.

Insta: @lamhamilton xx

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My apartment has roaches.

Don’t get me wrong; it’s not infested, and I’m not disgusting. I just moved in and noticed one too many, is all. So I’ve been fighting with them a little, placing down those boric acid capsules they’re supposed to eat and take back to the base, occasionally spraying bug poison around the baseboards. The works.

One night, I’d stayed up particularly late, and managed to single one out. The unlucky fool that came out of hiding. Mercilessly, I got my Raid and sprayed it. (And I mean sprayed it.) Then I waited. Watched it twitch and struggle. Sprayed it again. Waited. Watched it flip and roll. Sprayed it again. Waited. Sprayed it again. Waited. Repeat. Repeat. It didn’t matter that it would probably be dead in ten minutes if I’d just leave it alone. I kept spraying, just to make sure. Because it kept trying. Actually, it’s almost like every dousing brought life back into it, gave it the motivation to momentarily struggle some more. It obviously wasn’t going to last. I obviously didn’t want it there. Nevertheless, it persisted. It was frustrating, but admirable, I guess. Didn’t change the fact that it was a roach, or that I can’t stand them, but I’ll give credit where credit is due. It would’ve been so much easier if it would’ve just stopped after the first time. The second time, even. I knew—I think we both knew—how it was going to end. There was no changing the outcome. But the bastard kept trying.

It made me think of you, actually.

Anyway, my apartment has roaches.

— alhwrites

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“You know I left a part of me in that city. With you. With all the memories I’ve made there. I remember the blinding intensity of the neon lights at night. The deafening noises of afternoon traffic. I’m convinced there’s still a whisper of my laughter at that coffee shop we used to go to. When they prepare your cup and ask you for your name, you have probably come close to saying mine a hundred times already. When you walk down the street, there has to be a shadow of my body dancing next to yours. An imprint of my fingers against your palm. The sound of my phantom footsteps that you can’t seem to shake. I bet you still hear the echo of a song I used to sing ringing through your empty apartment every now and then. Your sister always said it was too quiet anyway when I wasn’t around. I wonder if you like the quiet now. If you got used to it. If you found someone new to fill it. I wonder if you ever come across a part of me, whether or not I left it behind willingly, and regret any of the things we did. Just a little. Just for a second. I wonder if you’d be sad if you met me and realised I tried so hard to get rid of the parts you left behind with me that I erased a little of myself in the process.”

— parts / n.j.

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                 It’s going to rain soon, close clouds bloated above us, the air like a net about to release all the caught fishes, a storm siren in the distance. I know you don’t always understand, but let me point to the first wet drops landing on the stones, the noise like fingers drumming the skin. I can’t help it. I will never get over making everything such a big deal.

—Ada Limón, from “The Last Thing,” The Carrying (Milkweed Editions, 2018)

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My entry for “Udon Entertainment” contest

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Hell’s Monarch by Andres Rios