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Photo by Dollar Gill on Unsplash

Skipping out of the gaping Hades that was 2020, I can say with utter conviction that I will follow through with my New Year’s goals. It is the beginning of a new decade, and thirty is breathing down my neck. As the grays march in, it’s time to put my nose to the grindstone and give all my ideas a chance to breathe. …


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Photo by Lilibeth Bustos Linares on Unsplash

We stumbled into each other on a lazy afternoon when I was fifteen. I was in the shower and I remember hearing thunderheads rolling in. I don’t remember who the guy was, but he had been on my mind for a while. One of the many diamond-cutting jawlines in Tinseltown. I was soaping up, and I remember the suds dripping down my thighs in sleek trails. My skin was electric with sensitivity and every nerve was on high alert. You took my hand, your chin on my shoulder, and guided me to my groin. You coached me on as the…


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Photo by Conor Brown on Unsplash

Brett ran down Ebony Street and took a right at Cliff. The front of his shirt was dark with sweat. The sun was peeking out from the skyline, bringing out a flare of vivid pink that clashed with the early-morning blue. Brett stopped at the curb to snap a pic on his phone, and checked the time. He got home ten minutes later, taking a final swig from his water bottle before heading into the house. Mom was in the kitchen, starting the coffee.

“Hey, Mom.” The teenager kissed her on the cheek.

“Hey, track star. Good run?” Brett pulled…


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Photo by Alexandru Acea on Unsplash

My first taste of horror as a kid were the warning adds for smoking. Between the bright colors and goofy antics of my Saturday morning cartoons, one of these commercials would pop up like a prom night pimple. I watched puffs of curling smoke corrode throats, the pink healthy tissue of lungs desiccate and blacken, and pearly whites veer to yokel yellow.

Later, drugs were the villain of these parables: literally deflated teens, frying eggs to represent the frying of brain cells, and a somehow really uncomfortable stop-motion drawing with a guy and his dog.

However, I’ve noticed something that…


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Photo by Ivan Aleksic on Unsplash

Show of hands: Who else is sick of the c-word? It’s plastered all over timelines, polluting every comment board, and is coveted by Generation Z as if they invented it. I am so tired of cringe. Everything today is cringe or cringey. Forget so-called “political correctness” or its sister scam, “cancel culture.” Cringe needs to be our top priority.

The dictionary definition of cringe: “bend one’s head and body in fear or in a servile manner.” But by today’s standards, cringe is synonymous with “something I don’t like,” rather than how it was originally intended.

Like when you’re at a…


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Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Writing and creating can give you strange bedfellows. On my right is the cold and serrated Inner Critic, and on my left is the manipulative and cloying Comfort Zone. This rock and a soft place I have found myself between paws at me day and night for a mile of attention I shouldn’t be giving an inch to.

Sometimes writing a couple of sentences feels like a victory, but a few sentences don’t pay the bills, or get your name out there. My Inner Critic is a Mr. …


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Photo by Element5 Digital on Unsplash

It felt good when Nazi fetishist Tila Tequila’s Twitter account was suspended. The equivalent of a Montague morning, halfway through a Neil Gaiman novel and sipping an iced coffee out on a sun-drenched porch. I get a twitch in my nether regions anytime a fake nerd gets upset about inclusivity and diversity in the media they think should be colonized.

But I must confess: my fourth-grade teacher dying felt very, very good. Like a five-scoop sundae that’s worth the stomachache.

I found out senior year of high school that she passed; some of my classmates skipped school to go to…


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Photo by Alex Radelich on Unsplash

Stanning culture is the hardcore love (or obsession) with a celebrity. This is nothing new. From the hip-swinging of Elvis to the touchdowns of Tom Brady, Stanning is arguably the lifeblood of pop culture. It is the pep squad for those who make the magic happen. It excites, it arouses, and it motivates. According to Allie Volpe of MTV News:

As early as the mid-1990s, academics began to question whether humans could relate to media in the same way we do to other humans. In the book The Media Equation, the authors concluded that humans “not only can but do…


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Photo by Monica Silva on Unsplash

Have you met the Night Nag? She is the anxious person’s boogeyman. A penny dreadful that hunts in the late hours. Sometimes she finds me, balances her weigh on my chest. Her belly is swollen with fears. I try to move, to slip my frame out from under her, but she pins me down like a butterfly. The Night Nag grins mockingly and bites down on my brain with spindle-sharp teeth. When I wake up, there’s that teasing moment of a blank canvas, but then clarity steps into the frame and the weight of the night before hits me like…


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Photo by Tatiana Rodriguez on Unsplash

Jerry stood in a pink inferno. He snapped photo after photo as cherry blossom petals lazily drifted down to meet his feet. It was as if he were stepping on the tongues of infants. Soft breezes would blow them into cotton candy swirls and Jerry would snap another photo in praise. He walked among the white bows, lens at the ready. The photographer was enamored with such beauty, but part of him would admit: he wouldn’t mind snapping something that stood out.

“Jerry.” The photographer whipped around faster than the wind. A cloaked figure had its back to him. …

Nick Bundarin

Taking myself less seriously one story at a time. Lover of the weird, horrific and the fantastical. A touch of nerd is my cherry on top.

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