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Browsing: Art
“What happened at the house?” the doctor asked.
“The house was named Cooinda, which means, happy place,” I said.
“Sex is always weird, Ange,” she said. “No matter who you’re with.”
The legend of Popocateptl and Iztaccihuatl, the star-crossed lovers who became mountains, and now guard Mexico City.
After I scream, I turn on the radio. Toxic plays and I lie back down.
Why are you brown? You’re a brown person. Why?
The pontianak is the image of unbridled, uncontrolled feminine rage.
We should not call places like this massacre grounds, but battlegrounds.
When I was little, my mother would threaten me with dishonour whenever I misbehaved.
I was dazzled by urban litter.