‘They’ll pop their heads up in a minute,’ he was always saying. He was always right.
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‘The All-American Canal was now dark black with phosphorescent streaks where the border’s eyes stained it with yellow tears.’
‘They’ll pop their heads up in a minute,’ he was always saying. He was always right.
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‘The anglophone world, we have to infer, has run out of words for its own feelings.’
Daisy Hildyard on the wisdom of scarecrows.
‘What is the read receipt for?’
Lillian Fishman on texting, power and the ethics of leaving a friend on read.
‘Like pretty much everyone who uses the internet, I have seen many terrible things that I did not search for and that I cannot unsee.’
Rosanna McLaughlin on what the internet thinks she wants.
‘I have a pathological addiction to the internet, which I indulge with the excuse of making art. It rarely translates to anything good and mostly leaves me overstimulated and afraid.’
Paul Dalla Rosa on excess and the internet.
‘rumors of bees on speedwell, / no oxidative stress just / effortless pollination’
Two poems by Sylvia Legris.
William T. Vollmann lives in Sacramento, California. He is the author of nine novels, including Europe Central, which won the National Book Award. He has also written three collections of stories, a memoir, and four works of non-fiction.
More about the author →‘The windbreakers of the passengers standing at the rail fluttered violently.’
‘More than 111,000 people have gone missing in Mexico in the past six years.’
Anjan Sundaram on cartels, conflict and the rate of disappearances in Mexico.
‘Fifty years I’ve played here, except for stretches in Arizona and Mississippi, after my divorce.’
Fiction by Kate Lister Campbell.
‘I’m simply trying to do good, Sharon, in the way that I can.’
Fiction by Marie NDiaye, translated by Jordan Stump.
‘I spend the afternoon scarifying ceilings. My neck and shoulders are killing me by the time I leave.’
Fiction by Rue Baldry.
‘Madeleine Granville was standing at the hotel window of the Queen Elizabeth II, trying to decide which tiny car far below on Mansfield Street was her yellow Saab’.
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