Junior aesthete, rapping somberly: M, I, L, F, sautee the pussy ‘cuz I am the chef.
Overheard near Dillon gym
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Letter From The Editor
Dear friends, I’ve been listening to this song over and over again called “Stay Home” by American Football. There are only a few lyrics, but they go: Don’t leave home again If empathy takes energy Funny, though, because where else to empathize but home? If I could, I’d take off and fly…
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Le départe
“The sun is thrashing against the windows now. Your departure has me fixing myself a tomb.”
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Hamnet and Sentimental Value
A Nass writer explores grieving through cathartic performance, and the porous boundary between life and art.
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The Journey of a Ghost
I. Out of Darkness Here in the realm of shadow, in the deep darkness of a wretched chasm that never lightens, lives a ghost. Living lonely, it craves to spread this darkness, but it knows nothing of the bright world above. One day, it stumbles across a traveller exploring. It has seen men stumble into…
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Babysitting
You sleep fretfully, stirring up the buttermilk air. It’s been through your lungs and mine. You’re grasping and grasping, with hands plump and rosy. For hours you’d screamed, straining and messing my hair until exhausted. I notice us in the windowpane and let my neck slacken and chin fall forward. A mahogany…
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