It is not the hebenon that was distilledinto Old Hamlet’s earduring his elysian sleep, nor the toxic taxinethat ripples in the blood streamsof funereal yew trees. It is not The Stranglerof Martin’s A Song of Ice and Firethat constricts one’s throatwithout the aid of a hempen rope,nor the hemlock administered to Socrates’ brewto induce his doom. It is not the poisoned dartsthat feature in Sir Arthur … Continue reading Poisons by Susie Gharib
The curators gather round the inflatable chair,Knowing not how to seal the leak. Their efforts doomed to fail,for even if they patch the puncture, the act of repair ruins the chair.How do you fix something that was never meant to last? The furniture of my grandmother, on the other hand,was built to endure: heavy dark wood, breakfronts and clocks,a dining table with a small bell … Continue reading Legacy by Larry Kilman
i. We broke the bread along the coastline.The pieces first float alongthe white waves of the Pacific beforeit got swallowed downwith the sand and hope. ii. I don’t know when I stopped breathing,nor when my eyes rolled backand woke up with my right legbent outward. iii. I’m not awake enough to processwhat you’re whispering.I can only simply turn my headand look out at the water. … Continue reading Outlook by Naa Asheley Ashitey
It’s funny to think that as recently as 2022, when discussing The Devil Wears Prada, Anne Hathaway told The View, “I don’t know if there can be [a sequel]. I just think that movie was in a different era. Now everything’s gone so digital and that movie is centered around the concept of producing a physical thing and it’s just, it’s just very different.” But … Continue reading The Oddness of The Devil Wears Prada 2 Acting As if the Notion That “Print is Dead” is New or Sobering Information
To break down your wallsTo break through to youis the same as trying to reach 100 summitsClimbing and crawling your sidesrocks and dirt crumbling under my weightI try to move your boulders,snap the twigs blocking my way,winds blowing in all directionsrain beating down on my backthen come the blizzards hitting my faceyou try to knock me downyou try to keep me from going upyou don’t … Continue reading To Reach 100 Summits by Cithara Patra
A girl knows what it means to sit prettysqueeze her lips tight and smile wideher face painted pinkneck drenched in perfumeshe’s your perfect little dollyour toy to show off and play withuntil you’re bored so you throw her awayand go for the next doll in your sights A girl knows how to behavekeep up the spirits in the roomwhile hers is falling to piecesshe calms … Continue reading A Girl Knows by Cithara Patra
If Christian Kracht’s debut novel, Faserland, was considered a “rip-off” of Bret Easton Ellis’ general style, Eurotrash would also like to submit itself for consideration. After all, its autofiction genre is very much in keeping with what Easton Ellis did for 2005’s Lunar Park (back when “metafiction” was the chicer word to use). And while most people associate BEE with Less Than Zero (which also, … Continue reading Christian Kracht’s Eurotrash: Another Bret Easton Ellis-Style “Romp” That Examines the Guilt of Privilege—and How That Guilt Ultimately Serves Nothing But the Status Quo
I lose a little bit of hopeevery day.It feels pretty good. Continue reading As I Get Older by Ron Riekki
Thank God it’s raining.The smokers go outsideand smoke.I wish they’d smoke in their homes.I wish they’d kill their family’s lungsinstead of mine.They smoke in front of my window.I can’t afford air conditioning.I wake up in the night,actually wake upfrom the smoke.Wake up coughing.But tonight it’s raining.They don’t smoke when it rains.Or they do,but not in front of my window.I pray for thunderevery day of my … Continue reading It’s Raining by Ron Riekki
After mowing the lawn, the garage needed a paint job. It was while painting that I discovered a mole on my forearm had turned to a shade of deep brown. I snapped a picture of it and sent it to GPT, which said I needed a topical OTC to treat skin inflammation. The second I applied it, the mole expanded, blossoming like a dahlia. I … Continue reading Must’ve Been a Hallucination by Peter Crowley
