February 13, 2023 | Poetry
I’ll kill myself if you leave
John Doe
Our lovemaking is a demilitarized zone.
February 12, 2023 | Rejected Modern Love Essay
A Sex Addict Walks Into a Sex Party
L Scully
Shit, is this what the Zoom room people mean when they say fantasy addict?
February 10, 2023 | Modern Film Review
Killing Yourself to Live: a read on Brandon Cronenberg's Infinity Pool
Craigen Z Oster
This final image crushed me. It was a forewarning of what identity destruction can lead to if we
don’t truly understand ourselves to begin with.
From the Diaries of a Street Performer
Irina Varina
I am just a village idiot.
eating watermelon peachy-o’s
Elle Brooks
“You’re dirty,” you said to me, “I don’t kiss you because I think about how many dicks must’ve been in your mouth."
Partial Suicide
Troy James Weaver
Everything tended to with love bears fruit they told me.
Ask the Duskjacket: an interview with Bruce Wagner
Elizabeth Ellen
Now I don’t care anymore. I’m writing posthumously; I’m invisible now – like an “aging actress”!
Prom
Naomi Leigh
I was sobbing too loud for the men’s room and I was in no shape to explain myself so I settled on the supply closet next to it. After a couple minutes of moping I got a BBM (we had to have Blackberries then, for whatever reason) from Jarrett. “Were fuck are you bro?”
Mrs Narcissus
James Nulick
How much would you pay to have an honest conversation with yourself?
Sixty Percent
Will Bindloss
He turns up late to almost all of his final exams, answers whatever questions he feels like and defaces the rest of the paper.
Five Poems
Ashley D. Escobar
I vomited
up a prophecy in a dive bar,
inhaling hot dogs.
Natalie, My Chaperone
Cash Compson
I lie in bed a long time before sleep comes. I wonder if I love Natalie or if I’m just so bored and I’m turning fleeting, tiny moments into full scale cinematic affairs in my head.
On Suicidality, “Girl Interrupted Syndrome,” and the BMV
Emma Bhatt
To begin abruptly: I’ve been some degree of suicidal since I was fourteen. I don’t think this makes me special. In fact, I think I’d be more of an individual if I’d always wanted to live.
You stopped taking
Shalini Singh
A year wrapped in a day, a teardrop at the climax of every way that wounded, furthering the wounds.
Toilet Conversations: Pt. 1 w/ Alexandra Dietz
Miles Marie
There is kind of a freedom in the humiliation of feeling a little bit trashy.
Bath Salts
Andrea Taylor
I can tell she’s not convinced. But I’ve been Googling symptoms: confusion, nausea, loss of appetite, changes in sleep patterns, visual hallucinations, erratic behavior.
Ex ante, Ex post
Gillan Sims
That was the world then…
That was the world then….bawdy cars and tawdry thoughts and rundown wannabe skyscrapers brownie baked by the sun that just looked cheap against the horizon and everybody
The Alcoholic Babysitter
Katie Frank
She breathed deeply and saw an image of the naughtiest kids in the afterschool program laughing at her.
Why I Did It
Miss Unity
The day I stopped being a woman was a hard-boiled egg kind of day.
Destroyer
Jerusha Crone
I hold myself in the plank position. The little dog sits on the rug watching. It’s a very expensive rug. She’s not supposed to be here. He’s up on the purple couch and I do not know what he is
My Luncheon with Elizabeth
Victor Glass
When I was a younger man in my early 20s slumming about Watauga County in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina living off of sacks of potatoes, Top Ramen, and 50 cent day-old bread from Jimmy John's in the midst of a youthful exploration of self-discovery, my primary means of spiritual sustenance being $2 40 oz bottles of malt liquor, my relationships with scoundrels, endearing friends, an abundance of hedonism, a lack of responsibility, a poor boy’s decadence, bright-eyed women, and Kamel Red cigarettes, Elizabeth Ellen was the first literary publisher to accept any work that I’d submitted. This was circa 2014. Felt that she was the Hackmuth to my Great Bandini.
Painting a Picture of a Human Being or: Thinking About Lydia Tár As If She Were Myself
Craigen Z Oster
I first saw Todd Field’s Tár in a packed theatre in Bloomfield Township, Michigan with a crowd
of mostly middle-aged and above upper to upper-middle class New Yorker-tote-bag liberal types.
During the first 20 or so minutes of the film I found myself annoyed, fidgeting in my seat and
groaning as I sat through the titular EGOT winner’s conversation with Adam Gopnick.
Wine-Induced Laughing Fit
Danielle Chelosky
“you’re bad at finishing beverages that aren’t alcoholic,” you told me