Memoir by way of catalogue

TECHNICOLOR COWBOY by

When I flew home on leave some lady in an airport told me I was lucky we were pretty much done fighting over there. When I got back to Alabama everybody was still shopping and laughing like nothing ever happened. I’d say something about being in the Army and someone would inevitably thank me for my service, but they couldn’t tell me anything about Afghanistan, or the war, or what I was doing there. What the fuck were they thanking me for?More

Among the IV Trees

Among the IV Trees

Fiction by

Moonie laughed. “You made an appointment to give blood on the day after St. Paddy’s. After taking the day off, telling me we were gonna watch hoops all day. Go fuck yourself, appointment to give blood.”More

Everyone I Know Has a Brother Who Drowned in an Icy Lake Outside Winnipeg

Everyone I Know Has a Brother Who Drowned in an Icy Lake Outside Winnipeg

Fiction by

When I ask people who haven’t (I’m forced to assume yet) told me about their own brothers whether it seems as though a lot of brothers have been drowning in icy lakes outside of Winnipeg lately, their eyes widen and they say “You know, now that you mention it, it does seem that way.” More

Two Stories

Two Stories

Fiction by

Every interview amounted to the same thing. They began with a group of teens going to the bluffs to party, soak up the sun, drink, and make out. Until someone stopped talking, their eyes drifting off, looking defeated, and then dashing off the cliff.More

The Brothers Sabatino

The Brothers Sabatino

Fiction by

The story of a man destined to be damned.More

Block Party

Block Party

Fiction by

Will and Alex watch the block party through their bangs and Alex says that they should just leave and catch the next train into Boston, like, who would notice, look at them, they’re all so absorbed in their own shit.More

Undiscovered Country

Undiscovered Country

Fiction by

It is early evening when I pull up to the greenhouse. There is a certain way the light is when it has been raining for days in late May and then at last the clouds break. They are still there, the clouds, the air is still damp, but this light is soft, soft, and it is on my private list of precious things.More

His Love Has Forgotten Him So He Flew to El Paso

His Love Has Forgotten Him So He Flew to El Paso

Fiction by

He was shirtless with his gut hanging out over his gym shorts, white hair so thick on his chest you might mistake him for a polar bear if the climate weren’t all wrong. To top it all off, the sonavabitch reeked of sweat and gasoline.More

Sharon Tate Has Always Haunted My Dreams (On the Ending of Once Upon a Time in Hollywood)

Sharon Tate Has Always Haunted My Dreams (On the Ending of Once Upon a Time in Hollywood)

Essay by

Fair warning: I’m giving away the ending. I am going there, because that’s what the movie’s all about, and you should’ve seen it by now anyway. Like me, Tarantino grew up on B movies, drive-in movies, low-budget films with directors desperate enough to take creative chances to pull in an audience, often through shock andMore

BEAN & BAMBI

BEAN & BAMBI

SOUTH X SOUTH JERSEY by

I needed to stand and take it and bleed in silence.More

Estrogenuinas & Terrier

Estrogenuinas & Terrier

The Guiri Journals by

There’s a lot to recommend self-imposed exile in Spain. The three-dollar Rioja, for one. The less-than-three-dollar healthcare, for two. But if you travel a bit farther down the list you come across the line-item that the Spanish alternative scene is goddamn bursting with creativity.More

The Long Haul

The Long Haul

Fiction by

He cooked with a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a can of Coors in his left hand and whisper-sang Van Halen songs with sexual innuendos that completely eclipsed mine and Joelle’s comprehension. More

Valesco

Valesco

Fiction by

Love is killing the competition.More

Octopus

Octopus

Fiction by

I realized by using the high notes of the chords as a melodic line, and by the right harmonic progression, I could play what I heard inside me. That’s when I was born. – Charlie Parker   WITHOUT A TRACE Entering into the murky depths only one word comes into click click focus: Gone Gone GoneMore

holy land of jeans

holy land of jeans

Fiction by

The Artisan understands that Japanese designers have a fetish for iconic, old-timey Americana—cowboys, most notably, and Wild West mystique. In a store he sees a photo of the gay-bashing war criminal Ronald Reagan in full cowboy regalia, spurs and all, presumably a marketing image from one of his shitty films. More

“The car had been through a reconstructed transmission, a busted carburetor, and was an absolute lush for Valvoline.” – Jordan Farmer, “Brothers”