Exist Otherwise Has Moved My end of 2024, beginning of 2025, mood is one of, “I want to delete everything and start over.” I do this in my life with various things. Sometimes I regret, sometimes not. Instead of reactively giving in to the impulse, I decided instead to make a series of changes, some small, some big. The Big
Go to Post >> This is from Crimethinc.: “A thriving gay underground existed in Germany before the rise of the Third Reich. Some of the participants went on to carry out some of the fiercest resistance to the Nazis. As fascism is on the rise today, we revisit this history, seeking tactics and inspiration for our own troubled times.” Queer Wanderings through the Other
Go to Post >> Anne Whitehouse’s poetry collection, Steady, isn’t a poetry collection. Rather, it isn’t just a poetry collection. I, perhaps naively, set about reading it without first getting a sense of its length or breadth. The book is divided into four Parts. The first, second and fourth sections, titled Morning Swim, Signs, and Blue respectively, each contain exactly 10 poems. I didn’t
Go to Post >> I’ve created a haiku form I’m dubbing haiQu. The Q comes from the surrealist practice known as Cadavre Exquis (Exquisite Corpse.) Why only the Q? I played around with other names such as Haicadavre or XQuizit Haiku and a few others, but opted for the elegant simplicity of haiQu, in a nod to the elegant simplicity of, well, haiku. dyspraxia
Go to Post >> We’ve got a side project in the works: it’s like a miniature Lit Journal for experimental works. It’s inspired by a few other experimental writing sites, including Bruiser Mag and Don’t Submit. It’s in the very early stages, so there isn’t much there yet. We hope it will become a repository for weird shit that may have difficulty finding a
Go to Post >> Review of the poetry collection, Gravity by Ari Lohr. Ari’s poem Essay on Coming Back Home appeared in Issue 2. I read this without knowing anything more than that it was a poetry collection by queer poet Ari Lohr. It opens with a brief prelude about the fathomlessness of gravity and space, which isn’t about either, exactly. I knew from
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