RESULTS FOR Stories
rosegold

Death Called Comfort

Natalie Casagran Lopez

11.28.18

“She starts a blog where she posts recipes that can be filed as both stew and edible face mask. A rash bubbles up, her cheek a pink ripped vellum.” New work by Natalie Casagran Lopez.

fur

Welcome To My Possum Kingdom

Alexandra Naughton

11.13.18

“I was sitting on my stoop, smoking a spliff, thinking about my future, thinking about why I’m having a hard time working on my writing.” New work by Alexandra Naughton.

window

Ben Affleck on the Ground

Paul Hansen

11.07.18

“If I rob this bank they’ll make a movie of me someday. That’s the way it goes.” Fiction by Paul Hansen.

30shollywood

Immigrant’s Song

Chris Oxley

10.15.18

Chris Oxley with a moving historical essay following a Russian-born Jewish songwriter’s immigration and aspiration in turn-of-the-20th-century America.

veiled nun

Failure Porn

Priscilla Posada

09.26.18

“I read an article on Frieze.com, and want to borrow the line ‘beyond repression and fetishization’ from Jörg Heiser. Then I go buy groceries and a new charger for my planned obsolescent-phone.” Fiction by Priscilla Posada.

stars

“What Else” & “Stay”

Chris Garson

09.19.18

“This may be where my performance of data-entry operations begins to decline, causing the seams of the sky to split and everyone to be expelled.” Fiction by Chris Garson.

bulb

Mood Lighting

Melissa Mesku

09.12.18

“All the light switches in this apartment are broken, each in a different way.” Melissa Mesku goes all Georges Perec on the various kinds of lighting in her home.

Black_space

Summer In The City.

Steve Anwyll

09.05.18

“The apartment has no airflow. And in this heat. It’s damp. Suffocating. Unbearable.” New fiction by Steve Anwyll.

grass

My Piss Is

Tracy Lynne Oliver

08.28.18

“My piss is a gray squirrel named Nutmeg. It scampers wet. And I am relieved.” Short fiction by Tracy Lynne Oliver.

texture

This Weekend

Tracy Lynne Oliver

08.23.18

“The saddest thing is a dying horse. That time I hit one with my car. How I sat beside it while it died. Begging it to rise again, let me on its back, how we could just ride away and eat grass and lick salt.” Short fiction by Tracy Lynne Oliver.