In my defense, I did try to think about ways to talk about how much I love everything this human does, but I think his work speaks for itself. I'm opening this blog post with my favorite series he's done so far. This is his Male Gaze series from a few years ago. Every time… Continue reading Scott O’Gara’s Art
Author: Visola
Visola Wurzer (she/her) is a freelance grant writer and editor living in Brooklyn. She holds an MFA in creative writing from City College and her work appears in Bowery Gothic, NanoCrit, Turnstyle Reading Series, Queer Conventions, and Sympathetic Ink. When she isn’t writing, she can be found practicing multiple forms of Kung Fu or sipping a nice tea with her cat.
Sunday Drive Designs
Have you ever met someone and in the very instant you meet you know this is a lifetime friend? Becky is such a person in my life. We spend holidays together. During COVID, travel was too complicated and dangerous for her, but I went to her family for the December holidays and updated her on… Continue reading Sunday Drive Designs
“It takes calm to live a life on the edge”
My copy of Said No One Ever by Gregory Crosby is well loved with notes in nearly every margin, including full poetic responses, most loosely connected and responsive to the text. Generally, this is an act of love and goes unshared, but I wrote the author and shared a few of them. As the politest… Continue reading “It takes calm to live a life on the edge”
Twelve Ways to Serial Killer a Visola
I promised my friend T I would write this, but not in the way I actually ended up writing it. For that I am sorry. For the rest, oh yeah I'm absolutely sorry. This is the most ridiculous thing but maybe I can't write serious things anymore. They are in the particular order of not… Continue reading Twelve Ways to Serial Killer a Visola
BASS 1998; Harlem, 2005
This summer, all summer, shootings have been on the rise. I am working on vignettes about the present. But also, I think about Bob Owens all the time. Our last hug as I left the city in 2009, presumably forever. How I pulled back after squeezing tight to ask, "What the hell is wrong? You're… Continue reading BASS 1998; Harlem, 2005
