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It’s More than that Damn Phone
If the discontent people online have is due to some sense of displacement, then maybe this is what the Modernists were talking about.
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The Immigrant Daughter Speaks
I’m not going to force your name–– Mother → Mommy → Eomoni → 어머니 → Eomma → 엄마–– because I never called you that. I never called you anything. For all your shifts you were the same, twisting every verb into –ing (I am telling you, I am not saying) when it already happened.…
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Letter from the Editors
It’s the last issue of the semester, and we’re mixing metaphors like water and oil: the Nass’s regular season is over but the playoffs have just begun; it’s high-noon and we’re taking a little siesta, but we’ll be back soon; the curtain is falling on this volume’s first act, a cliff-hanger that leaves your heart…
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Letter from the Editor
At this time in the year, one starts to think about escape — a dreamy kind of escape, from stuffy rooms into warming air and budding trees; and a more wishful kind to cope with the sense of unravelling that mounts as things continue to fall apart. Our writers have escape on their minds this…
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aubade for egg time-lapse
after Alan Michael Parker it starts as a rash hungover past the yellow line i blur into a stroller on the far platform we threw out anything remotely half-used: my bedsheets lay limp, like bedsheets egg whites crease on themselves at every intersection your basement smells rotten for a week this is how the world…
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