Richard Cabut Recommends: Constructed Situations and Torn Surfaces
We launched my current book Ripped Backsides: Postcards from Beneath the Pavement at Flux Lumina, an arts loft both luminous and dark, as well as fab, on the Bowery in NYC last summer. As is the custom, I made a short introduction to the book, treating the cross section of subway-annotated-novel types, tote-bag literati, bookstore-event lurkers, Downtown creatives – no ironic moustache wearers to be seen unfortunately, but you can’t have everything – in other words a lovely crowd; my kind of people. Ripped Backsides is a personal post-punk drift tracing ruined maps of the noir cities… A fragmentary situationist
City Limits by Hannah Smart
“They’re saying it hurt a lot.” “Well, yeah. Dying tends to do that.” “But this wasn’t, like, a typical death.” Four people sit at the table next to mine—two men and two women. One woman is blonde; the other is brunette. The guy talking has black hair gelled straight backwards. The diner loudspeakers blare some decade-old Taylor Swift tune. “Dumb Teenager Dies in Car Crash,” the blonde says, making flashing motions with her hands to signify BREAKING NEWS. “More at eight.” “Are we sure it was a car crash?”—the other guy. His face is that of someone who takes steroids
Spiritual Holes: Stephanie Yue Duhem interviews Audrey Lee
Audrey Lee’s Utter Goodness (Farthest Heaven, 2026) is a collection of ambitious range. The stories traverse American landscapes from Malibu to small-town Idaho, ventriloquizing fearlessly across gender, class, and generation. Lee, who has previously published two poetry collections, has made a decisive turn toward fiction, trading the mirror of confessional poetry for what she calls the “larger container” of the short story. The result is a book concerned with judgment and redemption, with “spiritual holes” and the dubious ways Americans try to fill them. What follows is our conversation about genre, place, absurdity, faith, and inspiration. Stephanie Yue Duhem:
Fruit Cutting Factory by Chuckie Smith
There are bugs in the watermelon. They’re supposed to be bugless but they always have the little white maggot bugs and sometimes, like today, they have the black scarab weevil bugs even though they’re supposed to be bugless. I never know if I should remove the bugs or not. Nobody else seems to mind them but it bothers me to label containers “bugless watermelon” when they clearly contain watermelon that contain bugs. We’re not supposed to deviate from the label’s ingredient list. But if I took the time to meticulously pull each bug out, the others would look at me
THE BOARD GAME (33 CONSECUTIVE BLOG ENTRIES FROM GOODSUNFUN.WORDPRESS.COM) by Tyler Plofker
July 9, 2025 Today I started a wonderful new project! Im making a board game! The board is made of dirt. The dirt is 300 yards by 300 yards and is outside. there is one piece (so far) and it is a little bird. The little bird is dead. (I did not kill the little bird)!!! July 11, 2025 I was trying to think of rules. I was thinking of rules for the game for how many spaces to move. I thought maybe the player will throw their bird (dead) into a dirt patch (maybe) and depending on which
‘HIT REPEAT UNTIL I HATE MUSIC’: A SPLIT LIP ANTHOLOGY GROUP INTERVIEW
Founded a decade ago as a competition between sad songs known as March Sadness, the tradition of pitting tracks against each other has persisted year on year, mutating in theme, but forever guided by deep music appreciation. Enthusiasts make their argument for a particular song in passionate essays, all in the spirit of friendly combat. Hit Repeat Until I Hate Music: The March Xness Anthology (Spilt/Lip Press, 2026) brings together a selection of essays to showcase the vibes of this enduring contest. With that in mind, I put the following question to a selection of the anthology’s contributors: When was
by Mike Topp
$25 | Perfect bound | 72 pages
Paperback | Die-cut matte cover | 7×7″
Mike Topp’s poems defy categorization. That’s why they are beloved by seamstresses, pathologists, blackmailers and art collectors.
–Sparrow
