Sublime

She was in his alcove when he got there, a plate of barbecued sturgeon on the table, the abglanz cycling through a face every half second or so, so quickly that the eye could not settle on a feature before it had changed again. Men, women, ephemeral and compelling non-binary concoctions. Some beautiful, others average, some horrid. Were they real

They are not a series of trustworthy memories perfectly lodged in amber, but something more alive in us all, something more fluid. I want to shine a light on places in the story where meaning turns. I want to bring you with me into storytelling spaces with these questions in mind: What pieces of our being are held by the environments and stories we

women who had eroticized and sexually defanged every unspeakable shame and violation life had thrown at their womanhood—she