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Imagine an alien invasion. I'm talking about the mother
of all motherships. Oozing dripping grey tentacles
maim & rip open everyone at the party while you & I keep
vaping out here by the garage. Mango-flavored puffs just
thick enough to mask screams, to see in the night, dark & thin.
I watch your ass sway its way to the house for two more beers,
hear you shout, & run up the sidewalk to be by your side.
Endless suffering in the living room. Slippery viscera hide
behind a red couch that shouldn't be. An extraterrestrial near-
by has you in its grip, crushes your sweet skull that had been
so happy an hour ago. How I feel now is the exact color of the rusty
blood, the limbs that can't dance anymore. It's not new to say, or deep,
but out here, laughing with you, I'd destroy every unearthly ventricle
for one more puff, another minute, another, another, another.



Weston Richey is a poet, writer, and hopeful academic originally from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Weston received a BA in philosophy and English from New York University, and is currently an MFA candidate in creative writing at Rutgers University–Newark. Their work has appeared in FreezeRay Poetry.
Current Issue
22 Apr 2024

We’d been on holiday at the Shoon Sea only three days when the incident occurred. Dr. Gar had been staying there a few months for medical research and had urged me and my friend Shooshooey to visit.
...
Tu enfiles longuement la chemise des murs,/ tout comme d’autres le font avec la chemise de la mort.
The little monster was not born like a human child, yelling with cold and terror as he left his mother’s womb. He had come to life little by little, on the high, three-legged bench. When his eyes had opened, they met the eyes of the broad-shouldered sculptor, watching them tenderly.
Le petit monstre n’était pas né comme un enfant des hommes, criant de froid et de terreur au sortir du ventre maternel. Il avait pris vie peu à peu, sur la haute selle à trois pieds, et quand ses yeux s’étaient ouverts, ils avaient rencontré ceux du sculpteur aux larges épaules, qui le regardaient tendrement.
We're delighted to welcome Nat Paterson to the blog, to tell us more about his translation of Léopold Chauveau's story 'The Little Monster'/ 'Le Petit Monstre', which appears in our April 2024 issue.
For a long time now you’ve put on the shirt of the walls,/just as others might put on a shroud.
Issue 15 Apr 2024
By: Ana Hurtado
Art by: delila
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Issue 25 Mar 2024
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Art by: Kim Hu
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Issue 4 Mar 2024
Issue 26 Feb 2024
Issue 19 Feb 2024
Issue 12 Feb 2024
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