By Natalie Singer-Velush
When he was gone I was clear to lead an emotionless life. Nothing could be turned around, so I found a home inside nothing and made it something. San Francisco 1995: I am Mary Ann from Tales of the City, having survived the last leg of my own Donner Party, preparing to scale the hills into the desert to be chained, Norris-style, to a man. But first, burritos. Gilded theaters, velvet bucket seats. A head of thick black hair, neat Vans sneakers, wallet chain, the body attached. Led by Junipero Serra himself I roam the city, ingesting it, so that we might imprint on each other as proper lovers. I open myself up so the myths may crawl inside me, headshop bathhouse eucalyptus rainbow flag. Yeah, so what? They all help me begin and anyway it’s no one’s business.
Clamor 