In health we're doing the digestive system. We each got assigned a topic for an oral report. I got the small intestine. I swear to god I hate my life.

Lynda Barry


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As I enter the small intestine I get squeezed by muscles. Its dark and the walls look like slimey crushed velvet theres pancreas juice on me help me I am disintigrating.

Lynda Barry


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Above me soft footsteps, the sound through the ceiling of a teenager haunted by a door to the night. My cousin Maybonne lights up a Salem, blows ghosts to the darkness, be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.

Lynda Barry

Tag: home



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It is true that I am a person with black pockets of evil and hatred in my heart. There are underground places inside of me

Lynda Barry

Tag: evil sadness madness hatred hurt teenager



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No, she answered, “one is of tin, and one of straw; one is a girl and another a Lion. None of them is fit to work, so you may tear them into small pieces.

Lynda Barry

Tag: lynda-barry



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I am grateful to those who are keepers of the groove. The babies and the grandmas who hang on to it and help us remember when we forget that any kind of dancing is better than no dancing at all.

Lynda Barry

Tag: dance graphic-novel groove



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Ask a burning question, get a burning answer

Lynda Barry

Tag: lies question



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I am hell with a knife and there is nothing I can really do about it but try and keep my mouth shut and try not to let it show.

Lynda Barry

Tag: hell angst teenagers



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The groove is so mysterious. We're born with it and we lose it and the world seems to split apart before our eyes into stupid and cool. When we get it back, the world unifies around us, and both stupid and cool fall away.
I am grateful to those who are keepers of the groove. The babies and the grandmas who hang on to it and help us remember when we forget that any kind of dancing is better than no dancing at all.

Lynda Barry

Tag: growing-up dance dancing confidence babies stupid adolescence demons cool self-love grandma lynda-barry groove one-hundred-demons



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When we finish a book, why do we hold it in both hands and gaze at it as if it were somehow alive?

Lynda Barry


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