They are selling J. Robert Oppenheimer bobbleheads and martini shakers and baseball caps and t-shirts and pins and patches and picnic blankets.
FICTION
POETRY
The truth according to mycelia
Picture the earth as a child, swaddled in the velvet of a supermassive / black hole. Forgive me for butchering this metaphor.
MICRO
There are no stupid questions
Today I asked: Why and got: It was her time.
POETRY
From the Archives: I Guess By Now I Thought I’d Be Done With Shame
I left the shower and kept
singing. I sang about my body
like I was proud. I was proud.
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I worried about the stars, too: A Smile Split By the Stars Experiments with nourbeSe philip’s Revolutionary Intention
A Smile Split By Stars: is there another way to describe a smile undergirded by violence? But to assume only violence exists is to enter the space with preconceived notions, ones that philip and the curators attempt to work beyond.
From the Archives: Yes, Our Friend Laura Has Been Possessed By The Devil, But I Still Need A Headcount For My Six Flags Birthday Party
Yes, we’ve all been busy contemplating the metaphysical implications of a real actual Satan. Does this mean there is also a God, a Heaven, a Hell?
Memento Vivere
ron skips across asphalt, black eyes / like stigmatas, gray-brown fur left in the street
