Drew Hubner

Snow is falling on Sedgwick Ave above the Major Deegan highway east of the Harlem River. Barely light with no sun. The snow blankets the sidewalk, slushes in the streets and gutters and swirls through the gray morning air. ...

Francine Witte

Every night when the sun sets, I see her. Just over my shoulder like a blind spot in the rearview. Always. Been like this forever. I tell this to my best friend Al, and she laughs her giggly laugh, the one that makes me ...

André Breton

The First Surrealist Manifesto So strong is the belief in life, in what is most fragile in life – real life, I mean – that in the end this belief is lost. Man, that inveterate dreamer, daily more discontent with his des...

Mark Howell

One fall night in the 1980s I went to the Philip Glass/Robert Wilson opera Einstein on the Beach. After taking a seat in the balcony a part of me began fighting Michel Riseman's relentless ostinatos. Over and over and over t...

David Huberman

Cat woke me up. I immediately looked at my dollar fifty alarm clock. It was twelve noon, with the sun shining through our windows. My little sweetie was jumping up and down like a Mexican jumping bean, spitting and cursing i...

Neal Cassady

In December 1950, Jack Kerouac received the so-called "Joan Anderson letter" from Neal Cassady. Kerouac later said the letter inspired his new writing style in On The Road. Kerouac thought the letter was lost when somebody d...

John Farris

John Farris - writer, poet, raconteur, curmudgeon, mentor, genius - died last week at his home at the Bullet Space Gallery in NYC's East Village, where he'd lived since 1992. John was a friend to many, and took us young'uns ...

Jim Feast

Thaddeus Rutkowski, Violent Outbursts (New York: Spuyten Duyvil, 2015) A reader of Thaddeus Rutkowski’s new book of short fiction, Violent Outbursts, might be tempted to compare him to a number of writers, though ...

Alan Kaufman

Jessica Anne Schwartz, a purely Left Coast Cali artist, decided, last year, to up and plant herself in the very heart of New York's Chelsea art district where she maintains a large studio filled with her paintings, drawings ...

B. Kold

I’m ineligible to serve on a jury. Whenever I’m selected for jury duty, I never make it past the first voir dire—the part where the defense and district attorneys interview prospective jurors to ensure they’re not bi...

Patrick O'Neil

San Francisco, July 21, 1996 In the refrigerator are five cakes: carrot, lemon, raspberry swirl, three-layer chocolate, and some kind of tiramisu, or maybe it’s mocha. I can’t tell. Five large, heavily frosted cakes, ...

Ron Kolm

Duke knew it was going to be a bad day, even before he got out of bed. He had a splitting headache, and a lump the size of a nickel bag on the back of his neck. He couldn’t remember where he’d been last night—or how he...

Hilary Halladay

When opportunity literally knocked not long after his return from sea, Herbert was ready for a new diversion. It was 1944, the war would soon end, and change was inevitable, even for an unemployed drug addict for whom change...

The Editors

This was so much fun last year, I thought we'd do it again. (Two of my favorite books of the year were ones I picked up from last year's list: Station Eleven, by Emily St. John Mandel, recommended by Deborah Pintonelli, and ...

Jonathan Shaw

I was seeing double with fatigue. But Narcisa was just getting started. She hopped along, from subject to subject, like a cocaine-crazed, hyperactive little fairy, flittering between realms of thought I could barely fatho...