“Marvin’s Marvelous Mechanical Museum” by Jamie Bernstein is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 A strip mall warehouse of machines that my grandpa would take us to on Sundays, where we’d visit with the glass box fortune teller, ride on the three-horse...
a hammock of winter sleep in the armpit of the highway / a log truck raises its voice above the monotone / sound accelerates down the liquid sheet / polyvinyltraffic cones idle in powder’s mouth / a lone pigeon drives the emptiness home Eimear Laffan’s...
Photo by Alexanderphoto7 / Shutterstock.com The unexpected pounce of heat against my face. The evening sun, not even close to setting, blazes off the water. A regatta at Café Regatta cutting like trim scissors into the silk blue sea, flashes of white at their bows....
Photo by lit3rd / Shutterstock.com If I were an alcoholic in Japan, I would be very good at hiding it. The way I would be very good at hiding everything: my panic attacks, my tattoos, my scars. No one would ever see me cry. Let’s get some vodka, I’d say to my Japanese...
On Saturday morning there was a man on the Balboa Island promenade painting a copy of The Raft of the Medusa. He stood on the sand on the other side of the sea-wall. Aaron and I stopped our walk to watch him. Aaron told him it was a cool painting and that he had just...
