Tag Archives: Cassandra Rockwood-Rice

If comedy were innate in me, I could play the part they want me to enact. A man walks to the Condor Topless Bar. Smoke moves from him like a locomotive. He has no umbrella. He is me. I am … Continue reading →

We cut wooden teeth for an unsightly cringe along the skin. Plants emit volatile chemical cues, carried in blood streams to other parts. Easily confused for excitement, hormones control growth factors, trigger and regulate how far we go. And the … Continue reading →

Immense networks envelop our forms: Banyan, Eucalyptus, Oak, Redwood, Sequoia— if we lean into them, the internet of fungus communicates with other bodies, electric. All receptors piqued. A sensory ecosystem deepens within me, like when water comes together with other … Continue reading →

He tells me he pulled the molar on the right side when it was rotten, proud—he shows me a gap where smooth flesh arches vacant. It’s a tunnel to something real. I want to know how it feels— when our … Continue reading →

            “Most human predators, however, seek power, not food.             To destroy or damage something is to take its power.”             ―Gavin de Becker, The Gift of Fear Plants sense danger. They can hear the difference between wind and hunter. A man, sitting … Continue reading →