Stories

speedy and dumb (or infinitely numb) – Elizabeth V Aldrich

i snuck out of bed, i couldn’t retire into myself any longer. it’d become inhospitable; cloying bedwarmth as remonstrating disconsolate and forbidding as anything else. so i got out, i tried to let the cobwebs of sleep in my brain be. they’re the only kind of company i know, you know, and when they glitter i can almost dream i’m home. but no.

i limped to the shower and pulled myself to a stand,

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Stories

Abstinence Anna – Elizabeth V Aldrich

day 2 or is it 1 cold-turkey, this turkey! oh my god! the turkey! oh my fucking god! this turkey is COLD. and i’m not talking smooth cold or ice cold or Appalachian cold, i’m talking dry ice dead ice fucked up ice in your eye cold turkey. i am so fucking doubtful right now i could beat a horse over the head with a horseshoe. i could make my own glue out of eeyore and sniff it,

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Ruthless Little Things – Elizabeth Victoria Aldrich

$12

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Columns

Interview with Thomas Moore – Elizabeth Victoria Aldrich

Thomas Moore's new novel Alone was released early last June by Amphetamine Sulphate, as if surfacing from the suffocating confines wrought by Covid-19. These conditions, as if simultaneously emblematic of deeper societal ills and limitations, brought with its birth a sense of perennial resilience.  This book was an emergency. Not one defined by talking heads or the World Health Organization, but necessitated and heralded by the renegade spirit of a living movement of artists and iconoclasts.

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