Psych sophomore: When I was taking psych stats–
Cynical senior: What do they teach you in that? P-hacking?

“Today I am a disposable torso, a hipbone, a back: drained of your attraction.”

Revisiting Damien Chazelle’s La La Land as a eulogy for lost dreams of Technicolor.

When I was five, I stole five dollars from your bedside table, but I felt too guilty to spend it. When we went through the house, I took your favorite wallet and put the five dollars in it. I went to the bank to get pennies because you always had pennies in your wallet. Having…
“The man wandering through Chinatown called his pregnant wife and told her he’d found a new tenant for the second floor of their brownstone. The tenant’s name was Mary.”

“The words rest between us, I hope, like a rope of reconciliation. She never takes hold, however. The line severs.”

A candid review of the newest iteration of Chess on Broadway.

Across the country, protests are increasing in intensity and organization. They make for exciting headlines and call out high-ranked leaders. They are loud, large, and difficult to ignore. In the age of new media and increased factionalism, what is the role of protest inside the campus bubble?

The extremely specific black-brown spots on bananas, as though painted upon; symbols in smoke; the convenience of exploitation; the mistake of birth. Perhaps the last one is common in all lands. The uncomfortable ease of your childhood bedroom cannot be replicated. An echochamber of extremity—too cold, or too hot, with peeling walls. And the set…
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“The more we view certain expressions of gendered being as untrue, the more we reinforce in ourselves and others that there is a ‘true’ way to be a woman or a man, trapping ourselves in the same conservative discourse we claim to abhor.”
Ava Adelaja’s poem was a finalist for the 2025 Nassau Weekly Poetry Competition. SURROGATE For Pamela (Mimi) I. Her hair’s somewhat intact, ruddy clumps on the skin, hanging like the sanguine bush-berries you’re not supposed to eat, tempting. I fixate on that ‘cause her voice has fallen to a register that quite cools…

“She turned her head and looked up at the thin cracks in the ceiling. Her eyes traced the ruptures above them and Lizzie wondered what it might make it collapse. He turned his head and grabbed her face so her eyes would meet his, touched his nose to hers.”
Iman Monfopa Kone’s poem was a finalist for the 2025 Nassau Weekly Poetry Competition. On Sunday, go to the Pond and be selfish there you will find that there is no great mystery. and even though this morning, a man buried his brother, you weep for a lover who wouldn’t love you back.…
Psych sophomore: When I was taking psych stats–
Cynical senior: What do they teach you in that? P-hacking?