Category: Arts

Poems

1. we drove up the long hill to the top of the cemetery she showed me how they portioned off the dead the Serbians here, the Blacks on the other side, then the Greeks at the end. I got out … Read More

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Ovaries look like oysters, but they taste like halibut

That’s what I used to tell my interns, anyway. It was such a hoot to watch the queasy dubious looks on their faces as they glanced sideways at each other, speechless. They’d grin at each other, sometimes giggle; other times they just looked sick, or nervous, like I’d taken a piss on the preacher Sunday morning at church—Is he serious?

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Amo, Amas, Ahmed

When Ahmed was born those twenty or so years ago, the world was taking a piss. His mother screamed in agony as his overlarge head forced its way out of her vagina. His father, preferring oblivion to the messy, bloody process that is birth, smoked himself retarded outside the whelping chamber.

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Sontag and Ancient Egypt

Upon a visit to the Met, a Nass writer considers the notion of experiencing art without analyzing it.

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Pills

Those pills, those—what were they?—those pills we ate are going crazy. My limbs are, like, exploding off me. I feel great. You look very pretty now. I mean, I feel great! How do you, how do you feel? Not going … Read More

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Playing Telephone

And the winner for the 2008 Safeway World Championship Pumpkin Weigh-Off is… Bill Lane!”

Bill leaned into his wife for a kiss. His son beamed and Bill acknowledged the little boy’s pride with a hearty shake of his shoulder. Bill rose and to acknowledge the audience’s cheers, he smiled, clutched his enormous belt buckle between his thumbs and his forefingers, and yanked up the front of his pants.

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Four Photographs

Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you!

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ADEQUITE by LINDSEY MORGAN LOHAN

He Died and I CRIED – no I swear that I did Many tears down my face like a litle tiny kid Warm and Wet they were like a facial from Wilmer And I wished Robert was there so he’d … Read More

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Dark Zeros, Dark Heros

The first time I saw Zero Dark Thirty left me shaken to my core, affected to an extent I rarely experience at the cinema. I was deeply moved by what I saw as a powerful meditation on obsession and revenge … Read More

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What a Catch!

A man, Dave
A dog, Charlie
A woman, Alice

—no dialogue is audible—

The action opens on a bright sunny spring day on a residential street of a bustling city. Music: chipper.

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July 11, 2003: Ballymacash Burning

The night is an exercise in harmony, a lesson in primary colors: Billy, ten, clutches a bottle of WKD blue, rubs his fast-ruddying face. When he lifts his arm for posterity, the salute calls the flame to crawl down the … Read More

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The Library Full of Bowling Balls

The short story form is a special kind of animal. It is the form that students of fiction are made to learn first, as though crafting a finely-spun tale of less than twenty or so pages is the first step toward tackling the beast that is the novel. But this is mostly nonsense.

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