Lambs to the Laughter

Anonymous

I have the kind of mind that would kill me if it didn’t need me for transportation. In this case to Ireland. I had no conscious desire to go anywhere near the place but somehow I found myself sucked into the subway,...
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Dennis Gordon – Photographs

Dennis Gordon

I’ve been drawn to abandoned buildings all my life. When I was a boy, the allure was breaking into forbidden places without getting caught, the adventure of making new discoveries. Later, when I became a firefighter in 197...
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Afro-Surreal Excerpt

D. Scot Miller

Let me tell you how I met Sham Black. West Virginia, Dunbar Jr. High School football field, 123rd Annual Commode Bowl, Riverside Rats versus The Hillside Rams. photograph by Kym Ghee Every Thanksgiving morning...
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Gretchen Faust – Photographs

Gretchen Faust

Gretchen Faust is an artist and performer. She’s had multiple solo exhibitions at the Pat Hearn Gal- lery in NYC and Greengrassi in London, where she is currently represented. She has performed at the Franklin Furnace and ...
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The Year of Our Lord Quetzalcoatl

Margarita Shalina

The morning of the first day in the Dark Zone, I wake, still dreaming in black and white. I am Joan Crawford. I am Mildred Pierce. In the black of night, a storm is raging. I am in a bungalow by the ocean. The white foam wav...
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Plants at Work

Lynn McGee

Plants at Work Sunflowers bob on a raft near Chernobyl, roots leaching atoms humming with intent to harm, but diffusing like sugar in the slow surge of some big flower’s stalk, its face tilting to follow the s...
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Two Poems by Rebecca Weiner Tompkins

Rebecca Weiner Tompkins

AFTER YOU SAID I ALWAYS LOSE THINGS The red birthstone fell out of my ring, leaving its crowned prongs empty, a perfect chip chiseled from my heart’s bones. I dreamed being stopped by the long dark walkway w...
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New Paintings – Stephen Lack

Stephen Lack

Expressionist, impressionist, symbolist. Pop imbued with guilt, political outrage, occasional indignation, existential disconnection and an overriding sense of loss. These works celebrate where I have been with tenderness, s...
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Vladislav Khodasevich: Midlife Meltdown in Paris

Jenny Wade

During the unusually hot Parisian summer of 1924, 38-year-old Vladislav Khodasevich—regarded by Nabokov as the finest Russian poet since Blok—was suffering from an identity crisis. One of 3 million exiled from Soviet Rus...
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