Scenes from a Crisis | Selfishness Switches Genders

Oscar Schwartz

Midway through Joachim Trier’s film The Worst Person in the World, Julie, the main character, finds herself lost and unsure how to move forward on life’s path. She recently turned 30, works in a bookshop, and lives with her boyfriend, Aksel, in a tastefully furnished apartment in downtown Oslo. He is in his 40s, a successful comic book illustrator whose gentle, nerdishly charming demeanor belies a moderately deviant imagination. Aksel...

All Kinds | Fiction

Hannah Kingsley-Ma

When Sal had her baby, I watched her breastfeed her son in her living room. I asked Sal what it felt like. She looked at me and raised her eyebrows. Has anyone sucked on your nipples before? she asked. Sal! I screamed. Sal told me that when she breastfeeds around men she knows, they always ask her if she’s tasted it. They say it in a low whisper, urgent and...

Hollywood Tours | Fiction

Madeline Cash

Al Friedman and his mentally-ill cousin painted a decommissioned school bus to say HOLLYWOOD TOURS. They charged tourists $10.00 or ¥1,186.24 or £7.64 and drove them on a 3.5-mile loop of the hills. The price was well under market rate for the industry, said Al. He spoke to the tourists through a headset. “Kurt Cobain used to live there,” said Al, and so on. Al had been dishonorably discharged from...

A Fable | Poetry

Robin Myers

Once something closed around them like a basket and there they stayed for a long long time, falling in love with the tragic slats of light across their faces. They could see each other better now, the world gone a threat of latticed volumes past the reeds. Even then they didn’t promise anything, why would they have promised, aren’t vows meant for the giant to hear, and where was he.

Polytopes | Poetry

Kevin Holden

nephilim antiphonal twelve tone as if there could be such a thing anticomb the pollen a yellow shivering to take your seraphim & synapses the spaces between oh a raven a crow an owl show me the backside of the databarn 1 Yettabyte of brain oh come on now you would say super computer cum on my face   azeotrope howling clarity or akashic field rose tone row you say...

Poem in Which I’m Called Unknowable Despite Near-Constant Nudity | Poetry

Kindall Fredricks

And fuck if all the bats didn’t just slide under the bridge like dropped wallets. So what if I have nothing to say about the vocabulary of flowers—those pinheaded gossips sunning their perms mid workday with bees sticking out of their pistils like earbuds. Every word I have to give is wrapped in tinfoil and tastes like a fridge. There are no valleys sunswept in my chest, no dreams shaking...

The Fool | Poetry

Emily Skillings

I, too, long for a cradle Of brilliant grasses Braided through with wildflowers Rocking on a historic mound That drinks the blood of men Clots of irreverent sight— A shadow spills out Of a pinprick In the form Down below on the hill The men gasp and gurgle Until they go out Their weapons flirting in the sunshine Slick with insides The grasses grow strong and toxic So goes my...

Beyond “Hate” | Evading the Carceral Trap of Asian American Grievance

Rose Nguyen

To mark the one-year anniversary of the March 2021 Atlanta spa shootings that left eight people dead, six of whom were ethnically Chinese or Korean women, The New York Times published an op-ed by Korean American novelist Min Jin Lee headlined “Asian Americans Have Always Lived With Fear.” Lee draws on the results of an informal Twitter survey in which she asked her Asian and Asian American followers how they’d...

A Star Is Born | Raffi Gessen-Gould’s Examined Life

Piper French

Social media has produced a curious phenomenon: the unwitting child star. These are kids who seem to intuitively mug for the camera without having the slightest idea of what it means to be watched by thousands of strangers around the world. Their parents have made them famous before they can really grasp what the internet is, or meaningfully consent to have their image distributed there. It’s hard to say who...

The Patriotic Hat | Fiction

Alec Niedenthal

At the end of her first life, Mrs. Cohen moved to Florida. During her first days in the state she proclaimed the beauty of everything, while inwardly hating it. She was used to the aching distance between the things she said and the things she felt; it seemed to be how she was structured now. “I can’t believe we’re so close to the beach. It’s like a dream,” she said...

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