HeyJaredkay genivieve
musings of a film school graduate that loves esoterica and reverie.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 16
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- Sep 30, 2026
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- Aug 22, 2026
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Paris Breakfast Phéromones (opens the original)
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{i desperately wanted to know what you were made of}this was before I understoodthat wanting to knowand wanting to possessare such very close neighbors{they share a mailbox}after making love through the night,day and early morning,we went out for provisions and sustenance,strolling the aisles like a married couplein a sort of honeymoon phase,there’s nothing like that first grocery shopwalking around as an item, nobody knowingchoosing things to plan meals,things to enjoy,things to devour.I learne
Good Stock (opens the original)
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your inheritance wasa collection of pocketknivesand three unpaid parking tickets.mine was a vast coin collectionthat my uncle spent some timehunting down years before eBay.we keep remnants of bothin the kitchen drawerby the takeout menu talismans.you come home late, disheveledsmelling of another woman’s loinwith a bruise on your wristand a story about a grating manat work who talked your ear off.I tell you he was probably lonely.you say, no, he was an asshole.your uncle disappeare
Subterranean Remains (opens the original)
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when i’m six feet underand the bugs are feasting upon my organsthey will find microscopic traces of youin my heart and in my brainsome teeny forensic miracle:your name hiding between chambers, your fingerprints in the machinery,a baby blue thread from the work shirtyou left on the catch-all papasan chair[still caught in the fabric of me]you were always exquisite in stupid places.how can one be so unsettlingly handsome while rummaging through the junk drawerlooking for car keys. half dressed at n
résumé (opens the original)
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kay genevieve. i went to film school because i wanted to know what happened in the dark. i needed to know. i can load a 35mm camera with my eyes closed. i can identify a bad movie from the first few shots. i can read a book while walking. i can make a garden and a huge soil mess. i am surprisingly durable. i can make a dinner out of almost nothing and a tragedy out of almost anything. i have mistaken my own neurosis for prophecy. i have kept letters from people i no longer remember loving. i hav
little ducks (opens the original)
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you called me while pulled over ata gas station, somewhere on yourmidlife-crisis-induced road trip,at 2:17 in the morningjust to say you’d heardmy song on the radio.I don’t have a song on the radio.this is what I meant when I saidyou’re trying too hard to be romantic.we went to the museumbecause it was rainingand because you wantedto see the Warhols.I joked (partially)and said he sucked,his work, its try-hard.it’s ugly. it insists upon itself I
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