PH1

Polaco: Death of the American Dream in Serbia

Milana Meytes

“The more important question is what am I going to do?” he said.

The middle-aged man with a Yugoslav-era mustache answered me from the kiosk window. The clerk smiled at me as he replied to my question. In Serbia, you can add additional money to your prepaid SIM card at one of these booths. I frantically gave him the equivalent of a twenty-dollar bill as I asked him what I should do if the kiosks in the country closed under lockdown. My cell phone was soon to be my […]

Polaco: Death of the American Dream in Serbia2020-10-04T21:11:55+00:00

A Still Life

Zhangxinan (Ann) Wu

Still life: life in its stillness, ou la nature morte?
An urn still unpolished, a Babel of books,
changing seasons that are framed
by her bedside window, and
canvas only half-soiled by a patch of white, leaning
on the whitewashed wall of a rented room.

Like an uncommitted hermit enclosed in her
eventless existence, she still remembers
the summer solstice last year when a veil of mist
gradually covered the sun, the day
she, with mind ajar, met and studied the nude
in the bathroom mirror, quasi-cubist
after shower.

What shall we […]

A Still Life2020-07-02T01:18:46+00:00

Orbiting Corners

Valeria Seminario

Orbiting Corners

Valeria Seminario

Quarantined in a hotel room.

Orbiting Corners2020-06-26T23:03:06+00:00

Chrysalis

Jo Fekete

“Tragedy is the chrysalis of consciousness.”

Chrysalis2020-06-26T22:09:52+00:00

Cooking For One

Holly Van Hare

I couldn’t think of what to write. During the coronavirus shutdown, in a time when many of my friends were writing,
in a time when braggarts were going on about their prolific feats of authorship in quarantine, I was sitting on my
living room floor filling in a fucking paint by number. And I am a person who draws. And paints. And I am creative
and interesting and angst-ridden and perforated and empty lately, apparently.

I am a sponge—always have been. I seep insight from my surroundings, breathe in air from others’ lungs, suck in
sharply when you speak. […]

Cooking For One2020-06-13T04:54:45+00:00

Way Out in Brooklyn

Emily Hope Huber

During quarantine I:

  • Learned how to cook seared duck
  • Cleaned my apartment
  • Learned how to make margaritas
  • Got back into Italian
  • Took up painting
  • Finished writing a book
  • Participated in a cutest dog ranking contest
  • Saw some awful movies; saw some great tv
  • Watched the sunset over New York City from my rooftop
  • And none of it felt quite right because I did it all alone
Way Out in Brooklyn2020-06-13T04:54:35+00:00

How Does it Feel Not to be a Problem?[1]

Colin Stragar-Rice

On the cusp of losing her lover and partner, Angela Abar despondently asks John cum Dr. Manhattan cum Cal, “Where are you?” Right before Lady Trieu vaporizes the American God, Cal answers tenderly, “I’m in every moment we were together. All at once.” See—the way he experiences time is unique. In the simultaneity of his experience, causality and necessity are all bound up with one another. Everything that happens must happen. Everything that is going to happen is already taking place. In an episode prior, Angela prepares to defend Cal from being […]

How Does it Feel Not to be a Problem?[1]2020-06-13T04:54:21+00:00

In Every Day

Una Chaudhuri

The lockdown seemed like a good time to return to one of our most famous literary recluses (and one of my beloved goddesses): Emily Dickinson. As luck would have it, there’s a new biography just out, with an inspired structure, inspired by Emily’s own method of distillation: These Fevered Days: Ten Pivotal Moments in the Making of Emily Dickinson, by Martha Ackmann. Besides needing Emily’s distilling intelligence near me right now, I also bought this book because a numbered list sounded like something I could manage […]

In Every Day2020-06-13T04:54:14+00:00

522 Boulder Pass

Sarah Jane Weill

I’m in a house that doesn’t have a mailbox. Our closest neighbors are maple trees. For the first time ever, we tapped three of them in March and boiled their sap into syrup.

The walls around me are becoming strange. This house has always been a home, but now it’s a fortress. It enforces the distance between me and the suffering I read about daily. I try to mourn along with the rest of the world. I tell myself I’m doing my part by hiding. I spend too many hours looking out […]

522 Boulder Pass2020-06-13T04:53:47+00:00