My body is an emptied house. Here, you can cradle the soapdish of my skull. There, my sighs stand among the dirty glasses by the sink. My dreaming, tagged ceramic dogs priced well over value. Here, are the clothes I used to wear, rolled out on racks, on parade with high heels and earrings and the buttons you unbuttoned and the belts you unbelted. I … Continue reading Estate Sale by Christine Butterworth-McDermott
on the other hand she says to me it’s not as if it matters very much if you don’t get any better. why not sleep with the window open in a hundred years time it will all be the same you’ll be dead and so will I be and no-one will know about us except for some children and grandchildren maybe and they’ll be getting … Continue reading a hundred years time. by Diarmuid ó Maolalaí
The death of Philip Roth at eighty-five is symbolic of the continued tearing down of walls that have kept the old guard safe from too much judgment or criticism. The famously perverse Roth, whose perversity found him becoming a legend after the publication of Portnoy’s Complaint in, fittingly, 1969 (also the year Interview was started before it had to end), hadn’t released an incendiary novel … Continue reading A Call for Reading Leaving A Doll’s House as a Way to “Honor” Philip Roth’s Death
Interview Magazine was once the very embodiment of everything New York City itself represented: prescience, rebellion, avant-gardeness, not giving a fuck, being anti-establishment, being ahead of the curve on all things art. Originally started by Andy Warhol at one of the peaks of New York’s artistic renaissances, 1969, the publication was acquired by art collector and billionaire (for don’t you kind of have to be … Continue reading The Correlation Between Interview Magazine Closing & New York Being “Over”
My blood still so sparse after Infusion and injection: I puzzle the specialist. So here is my suggestion: With embalming let’s begin, youth is still upon me! Stick the finest clyster in known to western surgery! Running short on answers how To keep from dying early, Turned my thoughts to such a rinse And shelf life of eternity. If in death this medicine Resolved bodies … Continue reading GI Blood by Zeke Greenwald
While Tom Wolfe was not a spring chicken by any stretch of the imagination, the news of his May 14th death served to accent a certain heralding of what they call the end of an era. That era, of course, being the creation and cultivation of New Journalism, and the writers that ascribed to it as freely and unabashedly as Wolfe himself–Joan Didion (above all, … Continue reading New Journalism Might Have Grown Old, But Tom Wolfe’s Brand Will Remain Forever Young
Dead body That first time, you think Ahhh They’re just asleep. They’re fine. In a minute they’ll wake up Laugh and joke in the old way. Tell you what won the 2.30 at Chepstow. No problemo. You poke them, prod, threaten to Eat their pork pie. Nothing doing. Now you know, the pork pie Is the last straw. You never did like heights and it … Continue reading Dead Body by Helen Burke
is a chip that starts the computer pays for milk and bread anticipates convenience still under negotiation location tracked the way I drive the crave I browse a mortuary worker will recycle it with the pacemaker and artificial knee Continue reading The Implant in My Hand by Michael Lyle
Behind the red door, Is a woman called Sally. She planted the larkspur And she is rolling out pastry For a pie. Her hands Collect the eggs, scatter seed. Her hands are the ones That will wring our necks, But not today. Continue reading Bantam by Daisy Bassen
And if you asked, And if you didn’t ask, And if I never answered, C’mon, baby, What would you do then? Continue reading Consent by Daisy Bassen
