The Sunday Rumpus Essay: This American Paradise
The thing about Paradise is this—yours can’t be mine, and mine can’t be yours. Paradise exists in the imagination, and imagination is our only privacy.
Rumpus Originals
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Saturday Rumpus Poetry: Three Poems by Connie Voisine
Strewn is a finger in the soil, the seed / pressed through, too deep, anxious and why.
Natural Born Drivers
He only knew that the Blazer, like the green card, was something he wanted my brother and me to have, so that we knew we deserved things, things like America.
The Rumpus Interview with Esmé Weijun Wang
Esmé Weijun Wang discusses her first novel, The Border of Paradise, about a multi-generational new American family, creative expression through writing and photography, and interracial relationships.
The Rumpus Review of Nate Parker’s The Birth of a Nation
Parker set out to bring a different kind of “slavery movie” to audiences. And it is different.
Albums of Our Lives: The Front Bottoms’ The Front Bottoms
When I first heard Brian Sella’s sweet, pathetic voice sing these words, they seared a sense of guilt into me.
Eight Meditations about Mary Ruefle
“You haven’t even begun,” she admonishes the younger version of ourselves. “You must pause first, the way one must always pause before a great spirit, if only to take a good breath.”
The Rumpus Interview with D. Foy
D. Foy discusses his latest novel, Patricide, the evolution of “gutter opera,” his writing process, free will, and memes.
The Lonely Voice #32: The Last Lonely Voice
That’s what the Lonely Voice has always been to me. It was a privilege to be allowed to have a private conversation with myself in public.
Color at the Mercy of the Light
What if I said: while people still believe they are white in America, that delusion, and the dream upon which it is founded, needs to be seriously examined.
Dedicate Your No-Trump Vote: Morris Collins
Trump is on the ballot; we don’t need weapons to repudiate him, but the Blackshirts are marching in our streets.
Hard to Kill
Now everything finally made sense. I had practically died and woken up, resurrected. That’s why everyone was looking at me funny. Like its cousin Death, Near-Death leaves a stench that makes people uncomfortable.