In the final issue of volume 47, the Nass pays a visit to President Clinton’s stomping grounds, cries with Joyce Carol Oates, and does or does not do drugs in the Bay Area.
“By the eighth day words had begun to fail me. I thought in silent images. It was hot. We ate greedily, excessively, grilled meat on the bone, whole fish smiling up from the table, savory noodles prepared in cold sesame sauce with fresh cucumber. I sat around for hours after lunch feeling uncomfortably full.”
“You didn’t talk to me today. And I suppose I didn’t say anything either. So I searched for an excuse for you to remember me, wondering what I could possibly ask.”
We strive to be a democratic publication, one whose direction is shaped by our contributors more than our editorial staff. When we floated the idea for a sex issue, we received overwhelming enthusiasm from the Nass community. So we went … Read More