Sophomore, on preceptor: [redacted] is my soulmate. I want him to fuck me against a wall until all I can speak is Middle English.
Overheard on iMessage
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An Atheist Guide to Grief
“Life had been returned to her—the one she squeezed every drop of, the one she did and redid in her stories when it was just the two of us in the living room of our first house.”
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Nass Recommends: Masquerade
6:50 pm. Thursday night. July 31. The sun slowly emerges after a day of sultry rainfall. 60 or so people, all draped in formal and cocktail attire — tuxedos, white tie and tails, ball gowns — all matching a strict dress-code of black, white, or silver only. With silk and lace masks covering their…
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I Only Want to Go Camping with People Who Hate Camping
The difficulty of being Into things when your mother is, too.
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“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.
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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.
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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…
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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…
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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…
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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.”
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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…
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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…
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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…