I am the king of this mountainof dirty silverware, lipstick stainedwine glasses, heavy white platescoated with congealed beef tallow, Bearnaise.

About a decade ago, when I was a graduate student in creative writing, Anthony Bourdain came to campus.

My brother texted me the news and it didn’t make sense. 

When you identify strongly with a person--so strongly that when they speak, it’s like they’re narrating your inner monologue, or so strongly that you reconsider every choice you’ve made in life just because you want to be more like them--it’s pretty unsettling when that person ends up killing themselves.

How much of this worldwill be enough?

In the week after his death—and dying the way he did—friends, fans, foes, and family had to accept that Anthony Bourdain’s dark side was for real.

Before you stands the momentous “Villains” special online issue of Barrelhouse. Enter if you dare.

To say the scene: sagebrush

where the deer come to rest

from valley lights, farm trucks.

They step from the corn

Once upon a time a woman who hated birds married a woman

who owned a parrot that would live forever.

Last time we met, I was most

like a bride as I have ever been.

Charles Manson is Dead as the world loses order,

chokes itself in a pell-mell haze.

1. Do you remember how we met?

an understudy is a transgression

it occurs / imitation

There’s always a hook. It’s a staple to this story. A girl, a car, a late boyfriend on a windy night, a hook when she drives away.

Part of my crush was on his name: Kevin Leisure.

They say death does crazy things to the livin’. Those people woulda been put in their place by Mr. Fetters.

I don’t mean to watch you sleep, but sometimes, monsters just get hungry.

I was offered a kingdom and, without thinking about what the future might hold, I took it.