Archives

AN EERILY RECURRENT CREDENZA: An Essay on APPARITIONS OF THE LIVING by Dave Fitzgerald

October 6, 2023

No matter how much paper we push around in this life, or the next, or inside the crumbling filing systems of our own minds, the termites are coming for us all.

THREE by Amanda Gersh

October 4, 2023

I used to say I couldn’t travel because I didn’t have the time, but now I’ve got all the time in the world because the world isn’t using it.

SEX IS SECONDARY: An Interview with Matthew Binder

September 29, 2023

In retrospect, it’s obvious to me that I’m writing about my desire to feel a part of something greater than myself. I know that’s an impossibility, however.

PORCELAIN by Nicholas Claro

September 27, 2023

The couch is more of a loveseat. It hardly seats the two of us. On it is the pillow and blanket I’ve been using. This is the longest conversation we’ve had in over a week.

X-R-A-Y SPECS: All-American Murder

September 22, 2023

All-American Murder isn’t bad, but it’s almost an extraterrestrial product, a movie made for humans by something that has no relationship to the physical universe.

THE CARRIAGE ROOM by Mary Ann McGuigan

September 20, 2023

He returned home silent, even more sullen. I asked him about Mrs. Marra once, but he looked at me as if all memories, good or bad, had been erased.

NO EXIT NEEDED: A Review of Danny the Ambulance

September 15, 2023

If the Jury Room is supposed to be some kind of hell, we should all be so lucky to wind up in a hell like this.

Now that your precious jackfruit is out in the world, latch the angel onto your body and let nature take its course. She held her jackfruit to her breast, to her arms, her neck, rubbed it against herself until she was raw.

MORE WRITERS SHOULD JUST BE DOING THIS FOR FUN: An Interview with Tyler Dempsey

September 8, 2023

Everyone believes there’s something more out there. And if we were just braver, had more time/money/whatever, we’d Don Quixote it up.

SWEETNESS by Tina Kimbrell

September 6, 2023

On the morning that she died, I don’t think I knew that it was the day that we would stop waiting. We were just going to her bedside, as we did. As we had done for days. Suspended in that grief fog, gritty and spinning.