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296 pages, Paperback
First published September 22, 2014
"Mom has refused to give me a home perm, which means I'll be ugly for the rest of the summer, and one of my little boobies has grown an alien lump down in it that hurts. A massive zit festers in my nose like a parasite; I've spent the morning picking at it with a needle. . . . The sour chunks of food I keep sucking from my braces symbolize something--I'm not sure what, but it makes me think of the night Dad told me about Turdis philomelos, the songbird that lines its nest with mud, dung, and rotten wood. Walling itself in a domestic prison of its own crap was how he put it." (--from the Whipping)
Seventy-five percent humidity, and the boils on my inner thighs have fused and burst, trickling a yellow fluid. My neck pustules are starting to weep. Choice ecthymic sores have turned into ulcers. I spend my downtime pacing the house naked. I shift from chair to chair, daybed to hammock listening to the demented birds. A plague of small green finches has invaded the island. They flit through the brush, squawk, and devour berries. (--from Regeneration at Mukti)
Ben's acne had broken into bloom. His face glowed with an eerie bluish luster, and I thought that maybe his father had brought nuclear radiation home in his clothes. Zits swarmed like fire ants on Ben's brow. Purple pimples glistened like drops of jelly on his cheeks. Fat whiteheads nestled behind the wings of his nose. Only his eyes and lips had escaped the infection. (--from The Wilds)