Old Wineskins
by Ștefan Bolea in my life I’ve encountered far greater adversaries than death but I was born from her the taste of her cunt still lingers on the tip of my tongue nearly drove me insane
poems by T.S. Hidalgo
Kanovitz’s Vernissage, by Haneke (The McDonaldization of terrorism) George Ritzer and a corner are not the same thing: enclosed, the vernissage fifteen, in an unending McDonald’s, in the attic of a skyscraper,
Short term logic, long and large term logic: the human rationality and telos
by Ana Bazac I As it is known, the scientists have distinguished the types of human rationality – practical, theoretical, formal and substantive, said Max Weber[1] – as well as the pattern of the human rationality: to always correlate the means and the end of an action and to make this correlation in the frame of/according […]
poems by DS Maolalai
Our industrial roots we come from two lines of long-feuding families and I hope we don’t end up ending up the same way. it seems like every generation of ours has some minor squabble over god know what; land or parentage or just plain blood mentality. our mothers side I guess can be […]
Ariadne’s Song
by Samuel R. Buckley My life is a tune, three verses, a breakdown, and a chorus to fade. Verse Something very strange is happening to Ariadne Quantick. She opens her eyes after falling asleep on the morning train to find herself staring right into the eyes of her double. Straight into the face of herself: […]
poems by Holly Day
Fragments I’m a fool and there’s no getting back all the things I have lost. No use crying for the little pieces, all the bits that made up what I once was, a lie destined to disintegrate
poems by Mitchell Grabois
Trog 1. I was poisoned in 2009 I cannot be poisoned again Poison comes in many forms Some of it is white powder Some of it blows in the wind Some is traceable, some not
poems by Glenn Ingersoll
Meat People The foreign affairs begin to hurt. They call each other repeatedly, the phone bills fat as children. ‘Look, baby,’ he says. ‘Look, baby,’ he says. And for all the looking there ought to be a view wide as fourteen hills, four
poems by John Grey
Winter Child City’s snowed in. No one’s about. Nothing to do but admire the night sky through rippling red eyes. Not so much the stars. But the darkness that holds them in place.
poems by Cynthia Balea
[debut] THEMigod Thrown away Thrown away in a mold of unattainable aspirations And left there Rotting – Decomposing gruesomely as nonfulfillment putrefies my brain And I am