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
Car Seat Headrest and my twin fantasies
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Imagining the Black Cowboy
Recovering an alternative history of the West
On a Wednesday afternoon, I’m sitting in the conference style classroom of my workshop in front of a dark wood table …
Lessons on Corporeal Grammar
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(Mis)Adventures in branding the Ocean State
In March 2016, Rhode Island made an ill-fated foray into the wild world of state-branding. Lawmakers put $5 million into the …
An interview with novelist Max Winter
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Week in Strange Competition
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Head-to-Toe in All American
The paradigm of the exemplary immigrant
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Science & Technology
The fight for the right to repair
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