Stories

The All-The Way House – Gabriel Hart

The room assumed me.

The only way to return to the All-The Way House was from the top floor. The third story. Though a dread fills my mind that there may be an attic as well.

I’m not going to lie – I know the attic is there. I knew the whole time. But you don’t ever, ever enter the attic – not through its window from the outside or the floor hatch from the ceiling of the third floor.

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Stories

every life is a closed universe – Darragh Savage

The heart of every living creature beats approximately the same number of times before it stops, so life is therefore a matter of velocity rather than time. This was something an old friend told me, a thin boy from Barcelona who liked speed and whose heart as a result always beat very fast.

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Art

Eleven (11) Haiku – Homeless

My face is an un-
welcome mat, urging you to
wipe your eyes elsewhere.

Death masquerades as
a CAUTION tape finish line,
fooling everyone.

In this city, we
stomp across acne’d concrete,
feigning importance.

Floating face down in
the mainstream—these people don’t
even know they’re dead.

Punitive sadness
like a blowup doll orbiting
your lonely heart.

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Art

Amerikan Kodokushi – Myra Glass

Woke up to the void of an empty parking lot
Car filled with useless shit
Styrofoam cups, expelled aerosol cans and a single breathing corpse

  Wrists cut, lava overflows, leaving the man drained

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