queer poet and visual artist. @leromanovs on insta
To Drown a Pear
Circe Elton was only twenty-two years old when she began working for The Facility. It was quite an honor to be sought out for a project of this caliber, especially given her youth, or so she had been told in one of the fifteen or so interviews that she ran through with her usual ease. Other people liked to tell her how proud of herself she ought to be at any given time-- an unconscious desire of inferior minds to assert some emotional control over a person they could not comprehend in the slightest. Other people did not know what to do when confronted by sheer, unadulterated genius. It made them doubt themselves, destabilized their over-inflated egos. But Circe did not care. In fact, she did not care about anyone at all.
Five Easy Mocktail Recipes
When I stopped drinking halfway through my junior year of college, I was worried about how I would sustain my social life in a world that seemed to revolve around drinking culture. None of my friends at that point were sober, and suddenly I was thrust into a world where I was the only one standing awkwardly at the end of a dance floor, overthinking every interaction. Frat parties and nights at the club with wasted friends became tedious, until I began to find new things to appreciate.
What the Black Plague Can Teach Us About the Current Pandemic
In the later Middle Ages, the Black Plague swept across Europe, decimating approximately one-third of its population, although that figure is contested. The mysterious illness was spread by the usual vermin, rats and fleas, and moved amongst the human continent with no regard for rank, or wealth. Death it seemed, was the great equalizer, and morbidity abounded.
The Thing in the Water
Father moved us in the middle of winter. "It's for the best. There's nothing left for us in Georgia." This, at least was true. Sherman's March to the Sea had made quick work of Savannah. Our old brick mansion, with its pretty white porch where I had sat every morning of my childhood, was now uninhabitable. Father had liquidated what he could of our assets in the months leading up to the invasion, but the blow to our finances would be formidable. So be it, my blank face taunted him, You wanted a war and you ought to have known that no one ever wins a war.
Yellowknife had an arsenic problem. At least, that’s what Jason had told her the night they met, his voice heavy and self-conscious over the music pumping from the loudspeakers of the frat house.
The "Other" Bugatti
Most of us are familiar with the Bugatti Brand-- and the legacy of the unparalleled French luxury automobile manufacturer based in Molsheim that has delivered models from the Veyron to the Chiron to La Voiture Noire. After all, Bugatti is famously responsible for designs almost overwhelming in their aesthetic lushness. These are cars that exalt in striking colors and elegant lines-- the price attached is par for the course when one considers an engine that's subtle purr conceals its true power.
IT HAS TO GO OFF
Father had a 1902 model rifle Cartwright .22; the type of antiquated rifle that some proto-boy scout might have used as the beginning of the century gradually gained inertia. The handle was smoothed and red as cherry wood, and the trigger curved gracefully like a swan’s neck in the moments before it is broken. When I was a little girl, I would pretend the thing was a queer kind of bird, if birds could be wrought from metal and polished, rose-colored boughs. My father had inherited it from his father, and so it encompassed a certain nostalgic value, I assume.
My birth was not an easy one. I nearly tore my mother in half, or so the rumors go. I suppose it was the only natural conclusion to a pregnancy which itself was an abomination of the worst sort.