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by
A California native reflects on the cold and bleak of New Jersey winters.
This week, the Nass considers Judaism, documents our living spaces, and separates fiction from fact.
A Nass writer reflects on his complicated relationship to his Jewish identity.
“For who would not want to / stroke the smooth plane of her face?”
“Most days I whack my shinbone on the coffee table / When friends come over we drink whiskey and forget the rules of chess”
The Nass enters the wide world of surrealist fiction.
A photo essay as a chronicle of decay.
“More than a few miles from home, I conclude this first sliver of college convinced of the notion that I’m more fiction than fact. Now more than ever, I feel like a character, and not a good one.”
All the reasons you might see just a name inside a Zoom box.
“and the paint’s thin enough / to show silver peaking / and wildflowers that cut / deep into her sides”
“Remember how lovely / Your dreams once were, filled with sandcastles / made from stolen buckets on a beach / Long since nationalized.”
A Nass writer takes another dive into the work of her favorite B-list actor.
“i am timeless! un- / stoppable! godzilla / on the page.”
A photo series.
“my fingernails scratch at you under / my hide, like hives or a rash or some / other disease.”