peer review page 5
-

“When I come down off this mountain”: concealment in popular queer film
As Roya Reese treks through layers of concealment, the Nassau Weekly is with her every step of the way.
-

A Mother’s Mission of Unconditional Love
She lived on the beach off the west coast of Oahu for almost seven years. After a rough childhood and broken home, Kanani made it her life’s purpose to treat the world as her family. And she uses her cultural values to guide the way.
-

The Scorpion
(1) My roommate stirs. Her alarm rings at 9 AM, and she hastily turns it off to avoid waking me. My half-waking dreams are all the possible ways the email I sent last night could be answered. They range from “We’re sorry to hear you felt that way” to “Well, it wouldn’t have ended this…
-

Do Men Even Use The Bathroom?
Not the way we do. As a refuge, as a moment of silence, as an interlude through mirrors, through cold. As a breathless moment with which to blot on two coats of lipstick and splash cold water on the cheekbones. As an enclosure– as four walls, however flimsy, between which one can perform a range…
-

Nass Recommends: Officeparks
This review started as an obligation. It was the least I could do, really, to thank my friend and congratulate them on their poetic debut. Then, when I finally opened my personal copy of the book, sent to my home address after I’d emailed a certain publisher by the name of Will Ballard with a…
-

The House Behind Gladewood Street
“I thought about how I used to sleep on Gladewood Street with the passing trains at night. It reminded me of the boy who lived even closer to the tracks than I did, whose name I couldn’t remember.”
-
Letter from the Editors
Dear reader, There is a pressing discomfort in the knowledge that no image is necessarily real. Generative AI first dissolved trust in mundane photos, then spread to images of personal and collective value. We reflect on this with some hesitation—the discourse surrounding AI has become cliché, boring, and uninspired. Technology made it so that we…
-

Current Affairs
Ⅰ. LIFE IS ART This piece was supposed to be called: Reading Kundera in Prague. That is because I started this summer with a plan: to read all of Kundera, in order, in Prague. In an homage to the author — who, I later learned, is not the beacon of Czech literature that I…
-

-
Letter from the Editors
Dear reader, Wakey wakey, time for school. Memories of the summer sun interrupt daily life like nostalgia for the warmth of the womb. But hey. If you’re just finding the Nass, wakey wakey x 2. This mostly week- ly alternative magazine, written by students but unrestricted to the University, publishes art and text of all…
-

Alyosha
The summer’s heat was known to bring solids to liquids, ice to water, clots to running blood. On that day in August 1904, the Tsarina felt a turning in her stomach. She gripped her womb, and called to her husband and their maids. They whisked her to the nurse’s room, following each other like a…
-

A Lunch Date
A green restaurant, any time, really. Cigarettes on the ground outside, Sticky floors and fuzzy black mats. Customers scattered like seeds, Two clumped at the bar. Squeaking seats, a shared Shirley Temple. Salads and sandwiches drifting from Table to table and conversation wafting. A few smiles. Suddenly, She laughs, and It’s like the…
-

The Truth Well Expressed
You must believe you have sinned. You don’t go to heaven because you’re good. You go to heaven for a man named Jesus. Ask Jesus to forgive you and he will clean your heart. These fervid phrases coming from the speakers, designed to lure revelers to the apartment’s empty dancefloor, had a curious pertinence…
-

STAY IN YO LANE, they tell you— the Defense Against Change mission
Forests are burning, the air is filthying, and Miley Cyrus has gone slutty. The world is changing, things are out of control. As a people, we stand at the ready: Conservation, Preservation – these are our civil duties. To support our mission, we have built something called the DAC: the Defense Against Change. The Defense…
-

Ben’s Eschatology
He’s compact, twenty-five, staring at a line of mathematical notation on a whiteboard. He’s in a mostly undecorated, windowless office alone. He rakes his fingers through his hair and rubs the back of his neck. The air is humid and he can hear distant thunder. A beer he hasn’t enjoyed, with a film of condensation…

Leave a Reply