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.
An experimental theater company takes on Edward Albee.
Painting and architectural space.
The Freshwater author on the ogbanje, Igbo, rejecting gender binaries, and using private journals as creative archives.
Creating worlds and paying attention.
Photographs and textiles that materialize community.
Stone as material and metaphor.
So, instead of taking the long view, eventually looking back, we’ve opted to respond now—in more or less the heat of the moment, starting tomorrow—for the weeklong series We Are Orlando. Because BOMB is about heat, is it not?
“I hope it’s not a masochistic impulse within me, but I will always stay until the end to see how a creative thought completes itself.”
You’re telling me: / chicanery, the moorhen, / the long triple happy fluid, / the orange response. / By golly that tastes good.
“Wayne quoting Kierkegaard to Cassandra, ‘When you label me, you negate me.’”
So they invite you to Nueva York, all expenses paid, to participate in an event for Stonewall, twenty years after the police brawl starring the gay girls who, in 1964, took over a bar in the Village.
It’s been two years since Taylor Mead left us to take his role as the Jester Fool Poet of the Great Bohemia in the Sky, but he is still a very living presence on the Lower East Side.
Brooklyn-based Shelley Marlow, a first-time novelist, has created a memorable protagonist in Philomena/Phillip, a late-bloomer if ever there was one, a performance artist and researcher in 2001 New York.