Yuko Otomo

dedicated to Franck André Jamme (21 nov 1947 – 1 oct 2020) 16. Marvelously anonymous. Like an antidote. Or a balm. 26. … The lighter, the purer… 37. Abstraction. To abbreviate. To see it all, finally ...

Patrick O'Neil

Sirens fill the warm night air. A helicopter hovers. Then disappears behind a plume of black smoke—its spotlight strafing the crowded streets of downtown Los Angeles. “Protestors are being removed from Whole Foods.” Th...

Genna Rivieccio

The Russians have taken over Milan. They of the hearty stock and with their unflappable physical and emotional essence. It didn’t take them long to infiltrate in clusters and then droves. Now that no one else is left to vi...

B. Kold

The great poet/performer John Giorno has left this earthly plane. Here's a piece we published by him way back in 1994, an excerpt from his book, You've Got To Burn To Shine. John Giorno The Movie of Andy Warhol's Sleep ...

Richard Modiano

The expression “first thought, best thought” is usually attributed to Allen Ginsberg. Ginsberg indeed popularized the phrase but it was actually coined by his Buddhist teacher Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche. Further, there is ...

Naum Korzhavin

Naum Korzhavin was born in the Ukraine in 1925 and as a child witnessed the horrors of collectivization: “I remember the Kiev of 1933. People died right in the streets. . . We survived not only hunger. We got used to think...

James Reich

Wilhelm Reich’s The Mass Psychology of Fascism (1933/1943) poses a question familiar to many Americans bewildered by the presidency of Donald Trump and the igneous qualities of his base. That the question was answered so l...

Ron Kolm

There was a posting on Facebook on Saturday, January 12th, by Joe Maynard, an old friend, saying that a buddy of ours, Matty Jankowski, had just passed away in Florida. It was a very moving tribute, and it also contained a l...

Robert C. Hardin

9/11/01: 8:54 a.m. My shift has ended and I’m sitting at my computer, finessing a letter to Swedish musician, Tomas Pettersson. Looking out of an eighteenth-story window off Maiden Lane, I notice what might have passed ...

Jürgen Schneider

Amy Winehouse staggers in shortly before midnight. It doesn’t go without notice how unwell she is. Amy will be DJ’ing. There is a yellow shimmer to her skin and her skinny body looks more fragile than ever, her hands ...

Max Blagg

I was introduced to John Ashbery's poetry in the summer of 1971, by a beautiful young American poet living in London. We met at a church jumble sale in Belsize Square. Her flat was across the street. I woke up on her couch l...

Patrick O'Neil

There is nothing easy about turning sixty. The days whip by in a whirlwind, kids look younger, and you can’t understand what they’re even talking about. Cops, bosses, and doctors could be your daughters and sons. Films a...