Emily Buli
writes ecstatic fiction about consciousness and creativity.
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Bodies | Blood + Honey Lit
Bodies | Blood + Honey Lit
No Stars Only Smog | God's Cruel Joke
No Stars Only Smog | God's Cruel Joke
A Dimmer on the Floodlight | Expat Press
A Dimmer on the Floodlight | Expat Press
Spaghettification | Maudlin House
Spaghettification | Maudlin House
When you go through a black hole, your body turns to spaghetti. It can’t withstand the extreme gravitational pressure, so it gets stretched long and thin—a thread of light reaching all the way into infinity. “This is all theoretical,” my dad said, wiping flecks of marinara from his beard. “No one’s ever been through a black hole.” That was the last time I saw him. The second-to-last time was when I was nine years old. Front row seat at a play he wrote—close enough to drown in its glow, yet too far to see myself sparkling within it. I was
Gashes | Expat Press
Gashes | Expat Press
I’m on the floor bleeding out from the abdomen, and I don’t know how it happened, only that my hand is wet and I’m holding a knife and I think that means I must have done this to myself. I scan the room, looking for something to ground me, but everything feels so far away—the