Jim Feast

were usually, “Here take $20” or “Take this $40” which was to pay for stuff at the bodega I read to him late Saturday afternoons, and, as no one was usually due to drop by till Sunday, I got the supplies before I...

Peter Marti

RIP Vincent Zangrillo One by one the pillars we lean on crumble into an equally impossible horizon— you are gone and the City you loved is far away the dead command the living now, are afforded freezer-trucks bu...

Bernard Meisler

When I lived in New York City, I frequently had brief, meaningless encounters with celebrities. I used to have a place on 6th Street between 2nd and 3rd. One time I was at my front door and a limo pulled to a stop ri...

Glenn Russell

For many years Neal Merman commuted back and forth to his place of work like countless others. Neal performed the job of an everyday clerk in an insurance office; a room with blank walls, linoleum floor and forty desks under...

Ron Kolm

I’m sitting In the Parkside Lounge With a good friend, drinking Too many White Russians And bemoaning The state of the world. “What’s going to happen?” I ask her. “Well,” she says, “There wi...

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...

Dean Kostos

From a series of digital portraits by Lucas Samaras, Poses. The Pace Gallery, New York, 2010 Your face: invitation to gray fire, dissolving was, will be. Photographed black & white, your head is a George Hurrell ...

Omer Wissman

A man and a woman sit on a museum bench staring at a Malevich. Simultaneously they wonder what would happen should they both have the same thought at a same time. The woman, Sara, answers anything at all, the man, Abby, repl...

David Huberman

The first time a woman told me she actually ate feces, we were both in our twenties. She was a Jewish blonde with that sexy Gloria Steinem look and that Jewish American Princess attitude. When we were introduced to each ot...

Kristin Mathis

Let me write about all the ways I have no more words. You do that to me: extract incoherent sounds that mean more than this poem could ever say. Sometimes I wake up and think: nothing. Not in the way I used to—blank ...