My not-real zine friends are making music recommendations so I have made a playlist.
Lucero from a girl in Reno who writes about moments. Alex Wrekk and her Lemuria, The Kills, Sleater Kinney and Jarvis Cocker recommendations.
A loose community I pretend to be a cog in, the ghost on the porch nestled among of their stories, in their street dance parties, drinking the same dreb on 4:00am porches in my own realm, a naked 40 watt bulb shining through me. Not even a shadow. A voyeur.
Tape Songs makes me wish I was at the Domino Room slapping my hair against my cheeks, pretending I am made of pure bone, wearing unnecessary bracelets. Being a teenager, I suppose.
These stories. What do they mean to me?
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