I was drinking the bone-broth Kool-Aid, believing my fasting states and butter coffee were catapulting me towards some sort of psychophysiological excellence. I lost around 15lbs in 2015 because I didn’t allow myself most of the foods I usually “overdid” and was motivated not only by the progress but by the exclusive, cultish energy of ketosis. We were not the Google diet generation, we were Google scholar. We treated epilepsy, after all, and our fearless keto leaders preached the Good News to all who would listen, then verbally abused well-meaning bloggers and medical professionals who suggested that extreme dieting might be unhealthy and unsustainable. Read here.

The irony behind the phrase “written in the stars” is that we’re using our largely ambiguous and ever-expanding universe to describe a predetermined path in life -- to describe fate -- which, for queer youth in the majority of American communities, is presumed to be heterosexuality. I remember a time in my early teens when, after a long day of grappling with my unidentifiable discomforts, I looked up and felt a kinship with the vast, equivocal darkness. Fate wasn’t what felt written in the stars, it was something more like permission. Read more.

Just as there are tons of theories about why the Dutch are so tall (e.g. their milk-laden upbringings, a lowlands technique to stay above sea level, etc.) there are countless theories surrounding the phenomenon of their brutal honesty. History buffs believe it probably has something to do with the spread of Calvinism to the Netherlands in the 16th century. I’ll spare you the five points of Calvinism, because the Dutch people are far removed from, say, the belief that Jesus sacrificed himself for his flock and will bring salvation only to these worthy elect. But it may very well have contributed to a country-wide belief in the values of cheap living, hard work, and yep, verbalizing opinions. Read here.

This is a story I tell quite often: I went to Italy with my family when I was 12. During our short walk from the Trevi Fountain to the Piazza di Spagna, as sun reflected off the black basalt cobblestones of Roma and lit up the eyes of young Mediterranean beauties, a wave of panic struck me. Sitting down on the Spanish Steps with sudden vertigo, I thought, Wait, am I gay? (I was). But 12-year-olds today won’t have such a restful, architecturally stunning sexual awakening, because sitting on the Spanish Steps is now illegal and will cost people up to $450. Read here.

“So lonely, so lonely, I thought, wandering the tepid seas, apathetic as the low tide through which I swam. Until -- ho! -- a man with skin as tight and rubbery as my own appeared from the blue. Hello, I asked, are you also a seal? But he responded not. Are you my father? I pressed, holding out a flipper.” After holding my maybe-Father's strange flipper for a time, I decided regression was the only way to truth. I pretended to be my younger seal self and rolled my body playfully against his. Once against his chest, I felt that warm, arresting burst of healing. I knew he was my father. I needed only to remove his strange face accessory to hear Father announce the relation himself.” Read here.

There’s no denying that the country’s sex education is limited by conservative policy, which is informed by tradition and interpretations of religious texts. But there are also schools who try their best to break out of this mold and provide queer-informed information to students, working with up-to-date research and a relatively inclusive curriculum. Unfortunately, they too are barred from the so-called “new-age” sexual revolution by our society’s fundamental lack of perspective on queer sex, by which I mean: a resistance to defining exactly what it is and how to talk about it. Read here.

In 2015 the United Nations (UN) recognized prolonged solitary confinement as torture. “Prolonged” was defined as more than 15 days spent without meaningful human contact for more than 22 hours a day. 

During this process of recognition, a star-spangled elephant sat among the UN general assembly. The United States has the highest rates of prisoners worldwide. At the end of 2023, 1.8 million people were incarcerated. Each year, an estimated 55,000 to 62,500 people in state prisons are locked in isolating environments for more than 22 hours a day. Yet a majority of states in the US have not adopted the UN Standard Minimum Rules for the Treatment of Prisoners, plainly violating human rights. Read here.

Early Tuesday scramble. Scream into Atlantic Barclays. Two delicates cover ears. Watch backpacked electron exchange through double doors. Failed morning meditation at first sight of hazardous tissue crumpled on seat. Instead run through scenario about What if I suggest in slightly different tone, or withhold tone completely? And of course: ever-present possibility of stove demonstrating free will unto flammable objects atop. Ask self, where is your breath? Chest, stomach, Franklin Avenue. Decided no compulsive listen today, but hand does motion towards pocket, in bardo between thought and action. Oh baby come on let me get to know you. Mix of Dua Lipa’s layered voice and 1.5 speed self talk. Read here.

Intimacy is the art of opening oneself up, and being able to receive the openness of another. This means we must prepare ourselves to be open, in the same way a painter opens themselves up to their own creative abilities--if they painted from a place of fear, judgment, or uncertainty, the finished product would be shaky and restricted. Read here.

To be gay is to be poorly written. In popular films, for example, queer women are often loners in plaid, repressed femme-for-femmes, and star crossed lovers torn apart by tragic death. Such artistic disappointments have encouraged queer folk to turn away from Hollywood’s hetero haven and rely on their own community for representation.

So it’s especially upsetting when stereotypes are accepted and propagated within the queer community. A concept like “lesbian bed death,” or the decrease in sexual activity between a lesbian couple overtime, would be much less horrifying if it started and ended as a punchline from The Simpsons, but it didn’t, and it hasn’t--queer people have entertained its legitimacy for a long time, causing sociologists to step in and present their relatively inconclusive data, causing all of us to be confused. Read here.