I just finished my second queer memoir of Pride Month—I Am Not Myself These Days by Josh Kilmer-Purcell—and below is my favorite passage.
The Portland trip was hecka hecka dope, but I’m not gonna share pictures or words about its hecka hecka dopeness until mañana cuz I absolutely must finish John Glynn’s unputdownable memoir Out East as soon as possible.
I’m rereading Cordelia Jensen’s Skyscraping because I spotted it at the library last week and it is still extremely wonderful.
I squint back into the sky
knowing that this is the moment
in the movie of our lives
where the prop guy
I'm almost done with this book and I don't wanna be.
Jacs pulls on the elastic band around her wrist. "My pop used to stand in our kitchen, wearing his checkered flannel shirt and pajama bottoms with definite hip-hop swagger. He was too cool. Growing up, he'd say we spend our lives wrapping rubber bands around people. Some bands are so tight that you can feel them pulling you together. Some are loose and stretch for miles, there's so much give you hardly notice them. But you're still connected, and sooner or later..." She breathes in through clenched teeth and it snaps back into her wrist.
Although I'm much closer to the beginning of Will Kostakis' The Sidekicks than I am the end I can already tell that this book is gonna cost me something along the way.
"...I want to say Isaac lived a full life and retroactively justify him not being here by saying he lived more in his sixteen years than most ever would, but that isn't true. He didn't live enough, he didn't love enough, he didn't see enough, and if there's a lesson in all this—do more. You don't know how long you have. Do what makes you happy. Live, love and be remarkable."