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october 2019 | hungry needy spirit


fiction | jonathan duckworth | what the harvest moon brings

She scanned the pasture, but there was no sign of any thieves. The cold became unbearable, and she shut, barred, and bolted the door. Manuel was standing at the cottage’s center, still anxious.

“No monsters,” she said, ruffling his hair. “Come, you’ll sleep with me.”


From OF (What Place Meant) | From OF (What Place Meant) | From Xenoliths (Dusie Kollektiv) | So This Is Story | Denizen

Perhaps this should be an anti-artist's statement. It's been my goal over the past few years to be less artistic. Less poetic. Less worried about perfection. I'm not writing to put beauty on display. I'm not even writing to make sense. I don't think I can do that. I don't think it's what I need to do. I don't really know what I'm supposed to do. I don't know what can be done. I don't think too much about communication in general. The goal is to stay close to my thoughts and to try to convey my feelings. I try to monitor myself and my world at large and small. The world here, gone, and maybe some day to be. I call everything diary nowadays. I'm recording every way I know how. What's important is to maintain the initial idea and to keep pushing forward even if that means repeating myself. If a mood recurs it's certainly for some sort of a reason. Maybe it's just what I am. My work is my mind as I attempt to free it from former notions of poetry and Literature in general. Reading me may never teach you more about me but at least I tried.


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poetry | marie-andree auclair | neighbors

Our house plans mirror each other:
we sleep head to head on each side of our common wall
trot up and down our conjoined staircase at predictable times
smile over the backyard fence, friendly
over our skewed densities, eight of them to one of me …

ESSAYS | JULIE rea | a woman in pain

I'm writing this sentence after pain woke me up at about two o'clock in the morning. It's like in my left leg there's a loose wire delivering shocks so intense I have to muffle my cries so the neighbors don't think I'm being tortured or having loud sex. My permanently damaged spinal cord reacts to changes in the weather, from hot to cold, from cold to hot, from warm to dry, from dry to wet. I'm a goddamned human weathervane.

Pain is embarrassing to describe. Yet when pain gets the gets the best of us, it blots out the sun. It's too big to ignore.

I've been hearing quite a bit these days about pain acceptance as an antidote to the opioid epidemic. The idea is by accepting the fact that discomfort accompanies our lives, we won't need as much medication. Okay. So how do you obtain this acceptance?

film | gabriel ricard | captain canada’s movie rodeo

Yes, we can watch horror any ol’ time. If you’re still reading this, I suspect you keep Halloween in your heart all the live long year. All this is true. It’s also true that there is something to be said for watching Trick r Treat when the leaves are almost finished for the year. The quiet energy of the season runs through your favorite movies at this specific point in time. If you love horror movies, then you absolutely fucking love that. I know I do.