CO-AUTHORED BY: DON & KOBOLD Andy woke late. It was around ten a.m. when he emerged from the shower and brushed his teeth in the usual fashion: fifty strokes for his lower jaw, fifty for the upper and a final fifty for the the frontal bones which speech most frequently revealed. He removed the platinum…
Category: Fiction
Joanna Columbine
Joanna Columbine had reached her limit. Her relationship with her family, after years of strain, had finally broken. They were through with her. The debt she had accrued by studying fashion design at New York University was now coming due and even through she qualified for a minimal repayment plan, every month that she offered…
The Littlest Sicko
He has a famous name, though I will not provide it. I will say only that it does not appear in the recently unredacted Epstein trial documents. It’s impossible for him to avoid the news, running in his circles. The headlines are full of Clinton, Trump and Dershowitz, and perhaps they will be full of…
Lovemask
It started as a tremor; a vibration in the fabric of events. Tenuous at first, a blur of speculation, it fast developed definite form. A virus was spreading. Ghostly videos of nighttime China. Street screaming. Politicians broke one way, then another. Speeches were given, proclamations made, programs fast-tracked. Cole Laurier’s small and steady life, like…
An Interview with Damon Munkus, Originator of the Snoozecore Aesthetic
There is a problem with the table. I have been sitting outside at Bar Pitti, in the Village, for twenty-five minutes, politely telling the waiters that I’m waiting on someone as they refill my water. The situation is becoming increasingly strained. The crowds on sixth avenue are almost back to where they were before the…
What They Say About Old Dogs
He became himself in a series of slow dissolves. A little more hair, a darkened nose, a bursting shirt. He met the full moon full of expectation, hoping to howl. He sighed instead. Overcome by gloomy thoughts, the Wolf Man skulked through the rainy backstreets until he arrived at the bar with no posted signage….
Numbers Station
Melody was doing better. Earlier that day, while she was out shopping, she’d run into David — David from school, turtleneck David, pretentious David with his John Gielgud obsession. Oh he was faded, faded and fat, enthusiastic for his job “in tech” and his little wife, Sarah or something, ten years his junior. He’d asked…
The Question
Oh, they have eyes. Oh yes. Eyes of glass and silicon, ears of wire and plastic. They have bloody hands to do their dirty work. Eloquent mouths to tell their lies. They have all the answers, these men who rape the world. All I have is the question. I ask it again. The look in…
We’ve Got To Do Something About The Length of Queues
Those who know me personally were somewhat taken aback when I began circulating the early drafts of this editorial. “Oliver!” They cried. “We haven’t heard you say anything even remotely political since 1988 when, in a fit of schoolboy pique, you may very well have said that Denis Thatcher ‘surely keeps his fingers sticky!’ Why…
The Truth Was Out There
“They declassed everything in the twenties,” Bart said, his high reedy voice whispering incongruously from his fat, white stubbled mouth. “Crash recovery. Project zodiac. All of it. You hear what I’m telling you? Not only is there life out there, but it’s interested in us. It came here. Confirmed. All in state department black and…