She wore a spider broach to the party & told him it was named “Edgar.” “Everything is ‘Edgar,’” she laughed and pointed to the roses & the guardrail over the water & the water & what was left of the moon & a crunchy black spider by his
…eyes bobbing above the waves, mouth half-open, swallowing saltwater. I was in a stilled ocean, swimming toward a city-sized wooden boat, circled by boats rowed by hundreds of men. I climbed on board and wandered into a movie theater bathroom, vintage tilework everywhere. Rainn Wilson stood next to one urinal.
It was Monday we got the whale. It breathed and blinked. We pushed it. But even two hundred of us couldn’t budge a whale. We did what we could. We held our poles up by its mouth and took heroic photos. Took one of myself and sent it to my
Who can know for how long you’ve been falling— until the vastness, dim and spare, discretely legible and worn with use, is no longer referred to by its real name. You were drawn in, lungs first. Of course you sank. Perceptibly finite, repurposed, just like everything else. But all those
“What’s Wastewater?” I asked. We were in the New Student Dome. Your hair was a rectilinear waterfall, drowning the crowd’s noise. I was an RA. “Wastewater is a program,” you said, gesturing to a laptop with no screen. “It replaces your memories. But not all at once.” You paused to
Long ago, in a secluded village by the sea, there lived a boy. Every morning the boy would wake up before dawn and cook breakfast for his parents. He would gather his father’s fishing gear and help his dad into his great seal-skin coat. Just as the sun began to
Mickey rights wrongs. Mickey wrongs rites. Mickey writes words, sometimes wrong words but he tries to get it write.
Oaktea has always been in love with every aspect of a book–from the design to its contents, everything contributes to the experience. She started making comics for the all-in-one art and words combination, and eventually started working in bookstores to feed her voracious habit, as well as her love and
On late summer afternoons, when the water gets real still the mermaids surface, the spines on their backs rising out of the lake. My brother says he’s gonna catch one, even prowls the shore with a hook he’s fashioned out of an old broom handle and some coat hangers. He
As a grizzled and broad shouldered captain sat at the plank of his own sinking ship, he muttered to himself, “I am no longer needed in this world, for now I must acquiesce my fate.” Without notice, a second round of whistles pierced the air. And suddenly, a volley of