Category: Arts

Going Away

I remember the most beautiful party I have ever attended. It was held in a loft up-town. It was night-time, when the streets are brighter than the buildings and the eye is drawn slowly down, and I could see the Columbia University Observatory…

by on

Let’s Be People

A Rubblebucket concert review

by on

Platina Dishes

Our history books are mistaken. The first book Gutenberg printed with his moveable type was not, in fact, the Bible. Rather, it was a 28-page Latin primer on the art of writing and delivering speeches. The second book was a copy of his wife’s recipe collection, grouped according to the spices used in each dish.

by on

Four Photographs

Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you!

by on

The Myth of the Reclusive Writer

In Rich Homie Quan’s 2013 classic, “Type of Way,” he joins a three thousand-year tradition of literary recluses in a single rhyming couplet: “I got a hide away, and I go there sometimes, to give my mind a break/ I find a way, to still get through the struggle, what I’m tryna say.”

by on

Two Fictions

MONOLOGUE FOR A NERVOUS GIRL IN A WHITE BIRTHDAY CAKE DRESS AND SHINY LEATHER PUMPS (A deep breath and then go) Okay so this one time I was eating dinner with a friend at a food center in Singapore and … Read More

by on

Carrot Cyanotype

by on

Conversation

It’s like a death, but it’s worse. Because this is the last time I’ll speak with you and we’re both angry. I’m yelling something, but I’m looking at the rumple between your mouth and your nose, watching it as you … Read More

by on

Bones

“I saved a man’s life today.” She’s asleep. I climb into bed. My mouth hovers hot over her ear. “I saved a man’s life today.” That does it. She rolls over and has this medusa look. Quickly, I drop and … Read More

by on

A Poem

I. The Commemoration of St. Malachy falls on November 3, so as not to conflict with the feast of All Souls. A prophet, Malachy extirpated barbarism from the Church. II. St. Malachy was named Abbot of Bangor in 1123. “That’s … Read More

by on

Quite the Fourth

1 Black night sky pierced by bursting bubbles of color. Brilliance rains down on the back patio, singing blood-red bricks. Flames—leaping, dancing, hoping to escape—curl around the logs in the semi-lunar pit. Vigilant mothers reprimand squabbling children, “Don’t you dare … Read More

by on

Arcosanti

Three years ago, I stared up at the stars in the northern Arizona desert. I felt the smooth concrete of stargazing steps against my back.

by on