Senior male: The Sufjan album is so fucking good but it also makes me want to kill myself. If it had come out in 2011…I would not be here with you today.
Overheard on Skype
-
Letter From The Editor
Dear friends, Wildfire haze has made this summer season one for spectating. Two hundred and fifty American years came and went, a milestone received passively, if willingly. In our first issue of the semester, I am happy to report that new contributors refreshingly shift our focus. Something about summertime makes me want to…
-
-
-
tonsiled & Venetian Ceruse
tonsiled the slug of your body lies dead upon the floor; it squirms for a funeral without a casket. I make a bad Schrödinger joke: my cat died but did it ever exist? should I…
-
-
The Elephant in the Hungarian House
“Uma sensed someone approaching—a short man, old enough to be her grandfather, in an all-white ensemble. “Would you like to dance with me?” he asked with the forward politeness of a smooth talker who knew how to get his way.”
-
-
Tape Recorder Seance
Whether or not I press play, the tape rattles on; some days, I just hear it in my mind— wandering about by the side of the road, looking, out, out, for a nice place to sit down and witness the reservoir’s slow metamorphosis into sludge. Other days? No. Other days, I pull out The tape…
-
The Freedom I Found In “No One Lasts Forever”
On the one enduring truth—everything changes, everything ends.
-
Equinox
Lightning and thunder reassert themselves in static blinding booms. Boom. Storm shorts out the grid, so together we hunt for batteries. In the sudden blackness, I scour and squint until you become a soundwave streak of yellow twitching unlike an insulated wire. Jagged nerve. Warm. Salt crust spills from our cheap, plastic shelves…
-
-
This Street, That Man, This Life: Full Design
Pick up a copy around campus, or view the full design here!
-
Letter From The Editor
Dear friends, Change is in the air. All stones are unturned. Feeling a certain itching to explore. Fixtures seem like illusions now, walls seem eerily thin. Doors are deceptive, words are viscous. Oratory was invented for dubious matters, but we try our best not to lie in this magazine. This street holds its secrets like…