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A Note from the Editor-In-Chief
CW: suicide It’s an unfortunate structural reality that the Nass appears in print about two weeks after we collect the content that makes up the magazine. Enough time elapses to generally inhibit committed journalistic work or timely commentary on campus happenings. Not to excuse the things the Nass sleepwalks through. Or to excuse the miserable,…
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Nass Recommends: Chuquimamani Condori’s DJ E
A cathartic, eardrum-exploding record from Bolivian “epic collage” artist Chuquimamani Condori
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Nass Recommends: The Alcohol Initiative’s Magic: The Gathering Club
An encounter at a semi-regular gathering of trading card game enthusiasts.
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Something Different
Bear is late to his Standard Evening Meetup with Rabbit, a Samovar, and the Stars
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The Many Rhythms of Devonne Piccaver
A profile of a first-year rowing recruit in an unfamiliar milieu
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Stories Worth Telling: Sharon Lowe on Preserving the Nassau Weekly
Cleaning the subterranean Nass Room and reflecting on the magazine’s prehistory
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Morning Prayer
Morning Prayer Little red psalm books that we gathered from a rack like basketballs: sometimes I would get three or four, for my friends, a utopian gesture of plenty that was received passively, the cheap worn covers sliding across the plastic tables. I hated the mornings when we read a long psalm, legs stiffening with…
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I’m Moving Out of the Internet
I’m moving offline. I really mean it this time. After writing this essay on a cloud-connected word processor, you’ll never see me surfing these waves again.
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Ancestral Burdens
“Oh, Alexita! I thought you were just fat, but I see the baby bulge.” She continued crying as she spoke, drying her tears on Alexandra.”
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A Yoga Ashram, Donna Tart’s The Secret History, and Discobitch’s C’est Beau la Bourgeoisie
In high school I once wore my Pitbulls for Obama t-shirt (turned muscle tank) — which depicts three pitbulls, a speech bubble attached to one of them, saying “we don’t need no stinking lipstick”…
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Balls Dropped: Full Design
In the first issue of Volume 48, the Nass is more back than ever, reading, listening to country music, and getting away from it all.
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Letter from the editor
You can read Hunter S. Thompson’s suicide note if you want but only on Genius Lyrics for some reason and only while 50jitsteppa offers up a studio performance of his track “I Know” in a concurrently playing video. It’s sort of a deep cut for 50jitsteppa and sort of mystifying. I’d like to imagine it’s…
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New Year, New Me / I Was Cutting My Fingernails and Eavesdropping
An essay and a poem grappling with spirituality and the self in the wake of the new year
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Sorry About the Air Conditioners Being Off: Townes Van Zandt, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and Aesthetic Signatures of Heat
A Nass writer sweats through readings of some outlaw country tunes and a splatter horror classic

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