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Fiction

Art

(translated by David Bowles) How painful that the entire planet should end violently at seven o’clock in the morning, when everyone has woken up and is headed to work. What a shame that the news outlets barely manage to mention the concern expressed around the world by experts and authorities and that hardly anyone on […]

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Telling Stories

Cuil (kuːl) n. 1. A measure of abstraction from the reality of a situation. 2. The degree of deviation or dissociation from reality. 3. The perceived extent to which an observed reality is divorced from actuality. Because you ask (of course, you always ask), I tell you a story. 5 cuils (I say:) They were […]

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Walking off the Doeskin

On the last day of summer Jane remembers how to breathe. Breathe, her uncle had instructed. Remember to breathe, Jane. When Jane’s arms claw forward they don’t break water. Her fingers come back with red dirt clayed up under her nails. She rakes her way up out of her burial site and she takes a midnight […]

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Russula’s Wake

They hadn’t been naming the barn cats, now that Ainsley and Devon were old enough to know the difference between taking care of and caring for something. In the afternoons, when the school bus doors opened to release them, the children hurried through all the feeding and mucking and cracking and cutting, then closed up […]

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A Pinhole of Light

Waiting Like this life, the afterlife is unfair. A woman dies at twenty-nine and leaves her infant daughter behind. Eight years later she is still trapped on the other side. When I’m in my happiest frame of mind, I imagine Veronica searching for my darkroom each time I turn on the blood-red light. In my […]

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Sea-Crowned

Water—there’s water everywhere, water covering my feet, my knees, my hips. Water, foam, salt, sand in my mouth, waves crashing against this iron cage, pulling both it and me towards the depths. Once, I looked at the sea for comfort, to shelter my loneliness from your anger, but you took that away from me, like […]

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Better Angels

“How far down, missus?” The woman’s staring not at the hole in the wet ground, nor at the tall bearded man who’s asked her a question, but back at the house behind her. She’s half-turned, the top of her torso twisted almost impossibly, almost fluidly, in defiance of the strictures of the steel-stayed corset beneath […]

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The Only Way Out Lies Farther In

She was seven years old, and if only she hadn’t seen the sign then none of it would ever have happened. The grounds of the country house were vast, limitless-seeming. They had already been inside the house itself, had eaten lunch in the cafe, had explored both the lower and upper gardens, and had made […]

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Erasing Tony

She’s not supposed to mix alcohol with her pills. Not supposed to drink at all, but how else can she fill the hollow? She misses cocaine and Valium, that chemical seesaw, the duo that blotted out the 90s and half the decade after. Those years after the show. After Tony stopped calling. She recalls 1983, […]

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Psychopomps of Central London

Excerpted from A Psychogeographer’s Guide to the British Isles, Vol. 1: London, by permission, &c. In the Church of St. Anselm & St. Cæcilia on Kingsway, near Holborn Station, there is a statue of St Peter with a golden foot. Place a pin in your maps: many statues have toes or noses or bronze balls […]

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