I The Machinery sings itself to life at opening time again. Automated hinges framing long broken windows tremble and twitch, trying to light up the empty displays along the street, to open the wooden royal-blue double-doors, to let in the waiting customers to fill the stools and couches and unsteady chairs. But the doors aren’t […]
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Let’s start with the fundamentals: Every single song on Dirty Computer is good. I don’t mean good in an I-want-to-teach-it-way (although I do) or good in a contains-layers-of-nuance-and-depth way (although they do) I mean just good-good. I mean good in a I-could-listen-to-this-all-day-way and good in a I-never-get-tired-of-this-song-way and good in a I-think-this-song-is-my-favorite-but-how-can-I-really-choose-when-they-are-all-so-good kind of way. […]
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Judith Skillman is interested in feelings engendered by the natural world. Her medium is oil on canvas and oil on board; her works range from representational to abstract. Her art has appeared in Minerva Rising, Cirque, The Penn Review, The Remembered Arts, and elsewhere. She has studied at the Pratt Fine Arts […]
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we found god oh yes a most dangerous thing a most dangerous hubris we gave up ourselves to splinter the silver spaces between worlds an ultimate sacrifice only to find god dead this is no surprise it was foretold but it dreams you know you must be able to hear her dreaming no? perhaps […]
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Science Fiction (SF) is a genre often used to explore how scientists and science are a source of evil, potentially leading to the demise of civilization. Works such as Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein; or, the Modern Prometheus (1818) have well established the trope of the mad scientist who focuses on unnatural or evil experiments. Kurt […]
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I wear the skin of a dead star, remains of a plumage long gone for lack of oxygen. I totter around, shunning a solar wind that withers my fluids, yet drinking avidly the star’s energy that keeps me alive, nested into the frozen expanse of the deserted airfield – that I have to protect all […]
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instead, let’s talk about burial. about the reverse french manicure of dirt under your nails and the fading-bruise shade of a worm’s body as it is unshucked into the shell of the earth. i stood at what i thought was a grave and when i looked down i saw my younger selves blinking back up, […]
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Mine’s more like an O’Keeffe/Twombly; born of bougainvillea brush strokes; unraveling petals bearing, groaning out the sixty-eight genius children of Javier O. Huerta. He knew the meticulous folds don’t come Easily; the internal orchestration almost impossible to disseminate. But, I declare – it can be done. If you go back to the petals, really think […]
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You carry your home on your back, alone, Relish in the weight of it, the proximity – It would take seconds for you to disappear. Would anyone notice? I carry my house in my hands, Each etched curve on my palm a line Of my address. I live wherever they rest. I count […]
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There’s a synesthesia of hand to controller and my fingers don’t need to be told what to do, what to write, what to hold, when to stop or go. They hold themselves and I can’t even feel them. My hands are not in this body, they are in the dark world, cutting fresh grass with […]
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