Vol. 36 Issue 5
Mar 09, 2018
From the Editors
this past weekend three different men, on three separate occasions, called
to me across a room full of people. i swear their voices all sounded the
same with my name on their lips.
eye contact. i turned every time—the ever eager subject responding to
my hail. YOU. HEY. GIRL. HEY. LADY. YOU. WOMAN. HEY. YOU. each time i was stunned, and somewhat affronted. i know them all, but not well. ballsy
bold, i thought. you're making a scene. not self-conscious? unimaginable.
after it happened for the last time on sunday afternoon, i decided this
sort of social bravado had but one explanation: a figure from my past
(or future) was inhabiting the body of these men, calling out to me,
desperately trying to warn me.
of what? another storm to rip open my kitchen window? tiny hands?
pregnancy? (mom, is that you?) or, could it be, could it really be, the last
gasping breath of white-cis-hetero-patriarchy, making itself known to me
one final goddamn time?
me too, fuckers.– EW
Bodies of the Water
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Love Never Fails
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Lessons on Corporeal Grammar
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Imagining the Black Cowboy
Recovering an alternative history of the West
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(Mis)Adventures in branding the Ocean State
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An interview with novelist Max Winter
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Week in Strange Competition
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Head-to-Toe in All American
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Science & Technology
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Tom Schwarz is a farmer in Bertrand, Nebraska, where he lives on the same farm his family has owned for five …