Current Issue
518 words
Dear Reader,
I’ve read that every generation thinks that theirs will be the last. If Michael Stipe is right, there will be birds and snakes and music maestros to usher in our final end. I can hear them now, the trumpets blowing when Leonard Bernstein comes again to lead that one last symphony. But I await no judgment, whether in mezzanines or front row seats or even from the pit. Because as obsessed as I am with apocalypse, I’m skeptical of revelation.
I write a lot about disaster (thank you, Hurricane Katrina), and it’s always doomsday this and cataclysm that and what rough beast is slouching towards us at last (and please, won’t you stand up straight?). The end of the world starts with an earthquake, but it ends with a second coming that kicks off the automatic recount of our souls. In that final judgment, we get...
Table of Contents
Fiction
Dirty Blues by Tonja K. Johnson
Last Shot of the Noritsu Minilab by T. K. Rex
Butterflies of Ash by Chezza Lee
Hundred-Year Storm by D. Matthew Urban
The Ladder by Francesca Forrest
Poetry
What I'm Saying Is, I'm Bad at This by Mari Ness
Eve Devours Adam by Jess Gofton
Workplace Romance by William Shaw