Size / / /

Content warning:


remember … we met
a long time ago, at the end …

at the end
of another life, of another time
when we were both gods
in the twilight of the universe
we left behind
for the little solace
we found
here
alone
among the dying stars

these stars, these pyres
to a love that once lit the night
under a smoldering sky, stricken
with the fervor of
cosmic beings, whose passions,
whose pain, irrepressible
in its intensity,
threatened existence itself

and so, we were forced to part
we were forced to forget
that other life, that other time
abandoning all we had
for the little solace
we found
here
alone
among the dying stars

and whatever happens now
whatever we are after this
I want you to know
I need you to know
that I never stopped
that I never stopped looking for you
wherever, whenever that took me
because I knew that
no matter what stood in our way
or what we became
we would always find ourselves
again, here
here, at the end of all things

but now, it seems you’ve really forgotten
now, it seems you’ve really left me behind

and I … and I … need you to speak
to say something, anything
before the time comes
and it’s all over
and we have nothing left …

I remember



In addition to their work at Solarpunk Magazine as a poetry editor, and at Android Press as an editor, J.D. Harlock’s writing has been featured in Strange Horizons, New York University's Library of Arabic Literature, and the SFWA Blog. You can find them on TwitterThreads, and Instagram @JD_Harlock.
Current Issue
20 Jan 2025

Strange Horizons
Surveillance technology looms large in our lives, sold to us as tools for safety, justice, and convenience. Yet the reality is far more sinister.
Vans and campers, sizeable mobile cabins and some that were barely more than tents. Each one a home, a storefront, and a statement of identity, from the colorful translucent windows and domes that harvested sunlight to the stickers and graffiti that attested to places travelled.
“Don’t ask me how, but I found out this big account on queer Threads is some kind of super Watcher.” Charlii spins her laptop around so the others can see. “They call them Keepers, and they watch the people that the state’s apparatus has tagged as terrorists. Not just the ones the FBI created. The big fish. And people like us, I guess.”
It's 9 a.m., she still hasn't eaten her portion of tofu eggs with seaweed, and Amaia wants the day to be over.
Nadjea always knew her last night in the Clave would get wild: they’re the only sector of the city where drink and drug and dance are unrestricted, and since one of the main Clavist tenets is the pursuit of corporeal joy in all its forms, they’ve more or less refined partying to an art.
surviving / while black / is our superpower / we lift broken down / cars / over our heads / and that’s just a tuesday
After a few deft movements, she tossed the cube back to James, perfectly solved. “We’re going to break into the Seattle Police Department’s database. And you’re going to help me do it.”
there are things that are toxic to a bo(d)y
By: Michelle Kulwicki
Podcast read by: Emmie Christie
  In this episode of the Strange Horizons Fiction podcast, Michael Ireland presents Michelle Kulwicki's 'Bee Season' read by Emmie Christie Subscribe to the Strange Horizons podcast on ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Spotify.
Wednesday: Motheater by Linda H. Codega 
Friday: Revising Reality: How Sequels, Remakes, Retcons, and Rejects Explain The World by Chris Gavaler and Nat Goldberg 
Issue 13 Jan 2025
Issue 6 Jan 2025
By: Samantha Murray
Podcast read by: Jenna Hanchey
Issue 23 Dec 2024
Issue 16 Dec 2024
Issue 9 Dec 2024
Issue 2 Dec 2024
By: E.M. Linden
Podcast read by: Jenna Hanchey
Issue 25 Nov 2024
Issue 18 Nov 2024
By: Susannah Rand
Podcast read by: Claire McNerney
Issue 11 Nov 2024
Issue 4 Nov 2024
Load More