Rumpus Originals
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I Am No One’s Graveyard: An Interview With No‘u Revilla
Sometimes a poem is a rock, and sometimes rocks turn into flowers. And no matter how many poems I write about aloha and decolonial futures, they may still try to kill me
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Sketch Book Reviews: Birds and Us by Tim Birkhead
THE BIRDS AND US, written by Tim Birkhead and released August 2022 from Princeton Review Press, is atheist perfect mix of history, narrative, and science with a dash of cool illustrations. Throughout the book, readers will learn about everything from…
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From the Archive: Rumpus Original Poetry: Three Poems by Morgan Parker
I am only as lonely / as anybody else, I say / at lunch downtown, examining / my worth.
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We Are More: The Bad Ones
“My father says he’s sorry about the noise, but he wants you to know that we wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for 1953 and the American overthrow of Iran’s democracy.”
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You Don’t See the Whole Young Man until the Very End: An Interview with Douglas Stuart
The amount of pressure on young men still to get on with it and to bottle it up and to be strong and be certain is overwhelming. And it shows in the UK. The suicide rates for men are so…
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A Sultry Register: Nichole Perkins’s Sometimes I Trip On How Happy We Could Be
In early May I was scrolling through Twitter when I came across a post from author Nichole Perkins that piqued my interest. It was a sexy tweet—in a string of sexier tweets—dissecting actor Jake Johnson’s ability to convincingly exude lust…
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Feeling Comfortable Enough to Be Funny Is What Makes Me Want to Write Fiction: A Conversation with Megan Giddings
There was a long stretch where I tried actively not to make things I wrote funny because of a disastrous undergrad fiction workshop where I spent thirty minutes just listening to people complain that a story had jokes. And wouldn’t…
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Rumpus Original Fiction: Genesis
The speed boat moves fast and Genesis notices Kayla’s hair keeps getting into her eyes. She laughs, as do all the others, who bounce up and down and let out high-pitched screams each time the boat rides a wave up…
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From the Archive: Rumpus Original Poetry: Four Poems by sam sax
how many men have / passed through this room, through my lips?
