Gary Indiana

(from Gristle Springs, a novel of intrigue) In a detention cell at Gizmo, Umma Obikhan Khan, supposedly blind as the proverbial bat (having dwelt in many caves, the Umma knew well that bats are not at all blind, but simp...

Charles Gatewood

In early 1972, I spent a week with William Burroughs in London, photographing a cover story for Rolling Stone. Burroughs' radical ideas about power, control, and money touched me deeply. When I returned to New York, I be...

Michael Randall

other nights I’ve heard it just outside the window fluttering in the dark, waiting now I’m not convinced the heart fails the spirit sputters all voices silent then choral music on the radio quiet at first b...

Ronald B. Richardson

Memory is Narrative Memory is mostly narrative. I say mostly because there are rare memories that are not, such as olfactory memories: you smell something, and it suddenly takes you back to . . . what? In these memories, ...

Raúl Serrano Sánchez

Claudio was only trying to make up for all the years he’d spent yearning for those legs, the ones he was always telling you about over coffee in the newly restored center of the old city, in one of those bars that’s supp...

Pete Simonelli

The Good Shit We were told the bubbles should look like little pebbles you could pour clean into your hand. “Go on, shake it,” said Peanut, junk dealer, mechanic, and feral-cat wrangler by day, shiner by night. ...

Peter Shear

What really sends me is artwork containing a spaciousness of address which allows for our looking to become consuming and urgent. In these moments the relationship between object and audience can be truly generative, a...

E. A. Fow

On the way to rehearsal, Amy thought she saw something flit away. An afterimage lingered in her eye, pink and faintly glowing, but she couldn’t make out what it was. She didn’t think about it again until the next day, wh...

Breyten Breytenback

No, the universe remains dark. We are animals overcome by catastrophes . . . but I suddenly discovered that alienation, the exploitation of man by man, and malnourishment, will push into the background the metaphysical evil,...

Max Blagg

We lived one floor up from a woodworking shop from which the tools had long since been stolen. It was on East Tenth Street, way over almost to the river, a view of the smokestacks of Con Edison’s 14th Street plant painted ...