Sensitive Skin Magazine - Page 18 of 58 - art, stories, poetry, essays, reviews and music

Two Poems About the Village

Arthur Nersesian

EAST VILLAGE REMAINS Last night in East Village the garbage was tossed out only to wash ashore along 2nd Avenue resold by peddlers, bought by the hopeless few who see a nostalgia, a bargain, who take it home try ...

TWIN PEAKS: THE RETURN – Some Thoughts, No Spoilers

Marc Olmsted

Now that it's likely most of the most-interested have ingested the first 4 episodes of David Lynch's reboot of Twin Peaks on Showtime, I wanted to share some observations. As an elder, nearly 64, I watched the original se...

Irving Penn Centennial

Franklin Mount

Irving Penn Centennial At The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, through July 30, 2017 Money. Status. Power. Fashion. Style. Art. And some humanity, if it’s in the budget. Postwar New York. The first object we s...

Photographs

Perfect

Sarah Bernstein

Perfect Precise line Formed On top of Precise line Invisibly Perfect Excel at Gluing at Handwriting at Removing Splinters Cutting Bangs Perfect Feeling Walk on Hot sand Hand on Stove Fingers in Oil Boil...

Ghosts

Ryan Leone

Back in the days when relationships weren't digitized and couldn't just be deleted, you had to rip down pictures until there were only taped corners left on the wall that would taunt for a lifetime as torn and tiny ghosts. ...

Timothy Leary Letter to Allen Ginsberg – from Algeria, 1970

Dr. Timothy Leary

Here it is the the third (and final) letter we received anonymously, from Timothy Leary to his friend Allen Ginsberg. Things haven't gone so swimmingly for the dear doctor since his last missive, sent in 1969 from Berkeley. ...

Writing

I Sing the Body Electric

Walt Whitman

I Sing the Body Electric —1— I sing the body electric, The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them, They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, And discorrupt them, and charge ...

before we could speak

Dennis Cruz

before we could speak the specter of death smiling, Cleopatra uncrossing her legs. a small glimpse into the infinite then it’s over a bad dream lingering like egg yolk or menstrual blood on your tongue I w...

Iain Sinclair — Hard to Beat — in conversation with Chris Kelso

Chris Kelso

What is there to say about Iain Sinclair that hasn’t already been covered a million times before in a million different interviews? Well, probably not a lot actually. Lauded and derided in equal measure, as flaneur, grand ...

Timothy Leary Letter to Allen Ginsberg, from Berkeley, CA, 1969

Dr. Timothy Leary

OK, as promised here's the second Timothy Leary Letter to Allen Ginsberg. (We received three of these, anonymously, and published the first, from Mexico, 1963, last week). In this one, from 1969, sent from Berkeley, CA, we l...

Timothy Leary to Allen Ginsberg, May 8, 1963 – Letter from Mexico

Dr. Timothy Leary

Editor's Note: Well, sometimes we find the darndest things in our PO Box—we just received a package, with the return address "Dr. Tim Leary, Orange Sunshine Street, The Other Side of this Life," containing three (apparentl...

Evergreen

Classical Music Lover

Ron Kolm

Classical Music Lover I was sitting behind the cash register In Eastside Bookstore On a warm summer afternoon In June, 1976. The evening junkie group nod Hadn’t started yet, But they would eventually Shuffle in...

The Meaning of Existence

Phillip Giambri

The Meaning of Existence Two grungy old winos with damaged faces, sitting on the window ledge of the vitamin store on First Ave @ 14th sharing a bottle in a bag, bummin’ smokes from passersby, and discussing ...

Puzzles Partly, He Shoe

Jim Leftwich

Puzzles Partly, He Shoe Moments falsify no aspect of talisman or tale. Nor talus as source of value, nor described by the book in uncharted enchantment, entire hand-picked shifting presents, p resents, pre sents, shriek s...

Yevgeny Yevtushenko Has Left the Planet

Valery Oisteanu

Yevgeny Yevtushenko has Left the Planet On a quiet Saturday in Tulsa, Oklahoma A Russian poet dies, smiling in his dream All his life he waited for springtime But spring never arrived, only sounds The sound of wind w...