by Cristiano Cardone

“The phalluses wrapped around me, and I was dragged under the block, dissolving. In the end, I was a big hypocrite, trying to escape from what I was breathing and living.”

by Allister Nelson

“God comes hungry to your table. The crops have rotted. Tins of bean, ash in the cornbread. He asks you for food.”

by Neil Randall

“We have a 0.0% success rate at present, and of that we are immensely proud.”

by R.P. Singletary

“SLAPPED any hell or heaven, come piss and shit, life out of the man-boy whos-whispered-whose? Collapsed and somehow exploded (somehow??), his head hitting loud and fluids of every shade of b.i.o.l.o.g.i.c.a.l.s. across the shipyard-emptied stones.”

by Natalie Hammonds

“What was the point of her being able to go inside of her skin but not able to change anything?”

by Daniel Sheen

“It feels like the end of the world. But whisper-quiet. Less like catastrophic thunder and more like a slow unravelling, like an old sweater comin’ apart at the seams.”

by Basil Rosa

“He considers the Virgin Birth. Like many a Catholic, he was once so eager to believe.”

by Margaret Cahill

“Not everyone can paint,” he said, “but everyone has the potential to be a performance artist.”

by Cristiano Cardone

“I excused myself and headed to the van the studio had rented for me. Inside, I smashed the posca bottle against the bedside table—old blood, old life, old ways.”

by Shrutidhora P Mohor

“Before the end of the first year at our new home, I realized my wife has become a deer.”

by Paul Lewellan

“Hours later, the three women, unable to move from exhaustion–bathed in sweat, urine, wine, and bits of pastry shells–purred contentedly.”

by James Callan

“The drowning of one’s girlfriend is likely to sober-up the most inebriated of young men. Such was the case with Hunter, when his fear burned away his buzz like a lit match to an oil-soaked combustible mass…”

by Julie Iverson

“The big Golden Chair can fly, somewhat.”