#wit tea

[theoffingmag]

...the docent is uncomfortable talking about your letters. She says you and old girl used to sleep in the same bed because it was cold outside, that many Victorian ladies would have done the same, that it was normal. At least we can agree on that part. She keeps bringing up the fact that you didn’t have kids like it’s confusing, as though there is something mysterious about wanting peace, quiet, and endless hours for poetry and repotting plants.

— Rita Mookerjee, "Voicemail for Emily Dickinson"

[theoffingmag]

Please choose from the following menu options. Listen carefully, as our selections may have changed. If you know your party’s extension, you may dial it at any time. If you are calling about an existing reservation, or if you would like to make a new reservation, press nothing, your reservation is confirmed, you are already signed up, it’s going to happen, and there’s nothing you can do about it. The reservation is made. If you are calling because you would like to cancel your reservation, press one to hear the sound of a distant, hollow laughter. There’s no turning back now. Everything is in motion. If you are currently in the middle of your reservation and are experiencing difficulties or require assistance of any kind, press the palm of your hand to the center of your chest, feel your breath, and understand that no one is coming, that you are alone, and that this reservation is yours and nobody else’s.

— Dolan Morgan, "One Eight Hundred"

[theoffingmag]

I am a ghostwriter. I write to the ghosts. I write to the ghosts because when I consider their lonelinesses, I am sad for them. I imagine they are lonely. They never write back, so I can’t say for sure.

— Andy Sia, "The Ghostwriter"

[theoffingmag]

Bullet Journaling for Retired Detective Barry Borscht by Mike Itaya

[theoffingmag]

A prayer for the church girl, that convinces herself that thinking of an oasis, instead of her shirtless crush will cease the budding lust.

— Khadijah Johnson, "The Emmy Goes to the Echoes in the 59th Street Train Station"

[theoffingmag]

The Broken Nose - Wit Tea

By Meiko Ko

I’m not sure how it began. It could be something I ate or drank, and looking through my receipts lead me here. There’s nothing unusual about the pub, in a modest hotel along a broad street. Tonight’s bartender is new, I’m sure I’ve not met her or I’d be hard pressed to forget her height, a man’s, her edgy hairstyle like a bird nest’s fern. She winked when she slid the cocktail across the counter, causing me the sensation of floating. I’m flattered, surprised of my appeal, which I thought must have vanished in 2021, the year Dominica left, taking along the poultry in the fridge, with a cold note in the freezer compartment saying, “This is what you owe me.” Yes, I’d forbidden her to eat pork. I dislike the stench it left in her mouth, but not my own.

Keep reading

[theoffingmag]

You would think the most practical thing to do would be to tell the first person you encounter all about my enigmatic beauty. Nope. It’s gauche now. And yes, I had to look that word up, too. It’s French for "the most boring activity you could possibly put another human being through."

David Aloi, “I Am the Craziest Dream You Had Last Night and It’s Best We Keep Me Between Us”

[theoffingmag]

Mrs. Dalloway and House Party: An Objective Comparison