Editorial: Advertisement: Iceberg S/S 2001
Model: N/A
Photographer: David LaChapelle
Publication: Unknown
Editorial: Advertisement: ALYX F/W 2015 (Mother)
Model: N/A
Photographer: Nick Knight
Publication: ALYX F/W 2015 Catalogue
Title: Black Widow: The Name Of The Rose #5 (Excerpt)
Author: Marjorie M. Liu
I discovered the writer, Leo Tolstoy, in a muddy ditch that held more blood than rain. One of the soldiers loved his words – and then, so did I.
“All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love.”
That was so many years ago.
But words on a page didn’t teach me that lesson. I learned it on my own.
I learned it in trenches with bullets flying overhead; pressed back to back with grizzled starving men who would have laid down their lives for mine. I learned it from a ribbon tied around my ring finger. I learned it from a kick inside my belly. I learned it from death, and hardship and brief acts of inexplicable kindness. I learned love from sacrifice.
I learned love from living.
And no matter where I’ve gone, or what I’ve done – all the dark things I do not regret, but will never speak of – that is the one part of me that I have always kept safe.
Title: Find The Girls On The Negatives (Dockweiler Beach, CA, USA)
Photographer: Unknown (Found By Meagan Irene Abell)
Editorial: Chinatown, New York City
Model: Behati Prinsloo
Photographer: Hugh Lippe
Publication: So It Goes #6 (F/W 2015)
Editorial: Introducing Daisy Ridley: The New Siren Of Star Wars
Model: Daisy Ridley
Photographer: Mark Seliger
Publication: ELLE US (December 2015)
Editorial: Downtown L.A. Motel
Model: Martha Hunt
Photographer: Guy Aroch
Publication: So It Goes #6 (F/W 2015)
Title: Tutor
Author: Megan Falley
At thirteen, the boys started whistling
us out of our bedroom windows.
We didn’t ask our mothers
before shaving our legs. We bloodied
the shower curtain and left
it for them to clean.
We learned that replacing vodka
with water only worked
if you didn’t freeze it –
how easy it was to lie.
My first real boyfriend
was a college guy who drove
five hours downstate to be there for me
and my first blowjob.
I didn’t have a bedroom
to bring him to. Mine was still pink
with shame. An audience of dolls.
My mother would try to pay him,
assuming he was my math tutor.
We drove a while, looking for a spot
to park. Finally – the vacant lot
of my elementary school.
The seats in the back of his van
already shoved down.
Nothing to say,
no flavour left in my gum,
I spidered my mouth along his
stomach, hairy, like my father’s,
and tried to remember locker room
advice, magazine tips, the blocked channels,
but they never told me that
he’d be a tutor. He’d help.
The carriage driver and the prince.
Me – his horse. My hair – his reins.
When he kissed my forehead after,
I knew I’d passed. I knew it was silly
to have been so afraid.
I asked him not to drive me home,
but to let me out there. And I wandered
my old playground, slid down
my old slide. Swung my old swings
and thought, how lucky
I was. What a woman
I would be.
