Many, many people tell Emad to quit filming. It’s the central premise and organizing structure of the documentary. One by one, his cameras are destroyed by bullets.
The women who danced at the Lusty Lady Theatre were pierced and collared and well-read. When they weren’t breathing fire or taking writing classes, they stripped.
The headaches, my difficulty focusing, my specimen-daze, that floating island, my spastic, nervous heart—which are side effects from drinking, and which were inevitable?
Lucy Corin talks about her new story collection, One Hundred Apocalypses and Other Apocalypses, why she never says "ohhh" at poetry readings, and how desire and dread like to sleep in the same bed.
"A friend of mine at Iowa once compared the program to electroshock therapy—it’s good for you, it reorganizes your thinking, and you’d never want to do it again." Welcome to the strange and fascinating world of Rumpus Book Club author, Abby Geni.
Guns formed me—there’s no denying it. They worked on my body, bruising it in all the right places. Recoil and report learned they couldn’t scare me off. Each weapon wrote angry truth on me.
If it weren’t such a goddamn cliché, I’d write something snappy like: “Kelly Luce is attempting to reinvigorate magical realism by launching a full-scale invasion of Murakami’s homeland.”