If you can’t stand the first person, / get out of the kitchen. / Similar but escalating sleights of hand: / he wants to eat both the girl and the food in her basket. / She is past specialness, / doubling the likelihood. In such young women, / traumas curl / till Christmas ribbon. The greatest predictor of red / is oxygen.
These drawings are from a series of 210 on view at the Graham Foundation in Chicago as part of Torkwase Dyson and the Wynter-Wells School through July 28, 2018.
I get a part in a movie. I act every once in a while, small bits in small films whenever I know the producer or the director. This time it’s the director.
I planned to write a book about / the color blue. Now I’m suddenly surrounded / by green, green gagging me / pleasurably, green holding onto my hips / from behind, digging into / the cleft, the cleft // that can be made.
This piece consists entirely of first sentences from 268 short stories published in The New Yorker over the past 20 years, from 1997 to 2017.
A print project glitched by digital media.
I should say a few things / Before I begin. Hell is easy, / We brought us here / And not for the first time.
Jimmy, it’s your girl. The one at the desk whom you pay a living wage. This is what could be known as a wake-up call if we were the sort of people who relied upon others to remind us of our tasks.
Overcast cobalt, tile unbolted, pictures / On loan require empty space / Like an expletive. Grisaille pigeons, / Endemic to our swamp of / Commission.
We are street people. Nomadic by nature. We are the grandchildren of poor, adventurous strangers. Our living radicalizes their legacy.
Lying on the couch all day glass of water a highly disgusting smoothie four coloring books, / a myriad of psychiatric and “anti-inflammatory” medication / anti-inflammatory Jewish history books / anti-inflammatory pretzel sticks / anti-inflammatory medicinal cannabis
A collaboration between B. Ingrid Olson and Kate Zambreno.
You are magnetic in the old way. / For Duchamp, the neutrality of objects / You stand in a room of your own design. / becomes a sort of anti-aesthetic
When she told N she was leaving, his response was that doing so would ruin him—financially.
It was nearly winter, according to the sun and shadows and temperature’s plummet, when the poor girl lost her job at a greenhouse for the misdemeanor of pocketing rare plants.
“Nothing you will see tonight is normal,” said Elihu’s mother. It was the first exciting thing she’d ever said.
PREPARE no night creature accidental enemy / encounters return to us in witch cradles, monsters by a hairsbreadth / these our works melted no / accident these fires these crashes / capitulate to what is meant by the past as a whole / melt, fall back into accomplishment the grasp of who / prepares to give the message
Ville Kumpulainen is a photographer living and working in Helsinki, Finland. In his new book, Out of Sight (Hatje Cantz, 2017), Kumpulainen manipulates archival images to solidify the tenuous connection between present and past, attempting to fill the gaps left between himself and his history.
Sammy Stein is a French artist and publisher. His work has been shown in institutions such as the Museum of Modern Art of the City of Paris, Printed Matter, the French Institute of Tokyo, Essential Store, as well as book fairs including the New York Art Book Fair, Tokyo Art Book Fair, Safari, and Festival International de la Bande Dessinée d’Angoulême.