Poetry by Leah Nielsen

August 22, 2016

when you’re the Dead Dad girl
who leaves the party with two boys—just friends—
to see who can leap the farthest off the swing

Editor's Letter: Our Special Health Issue

August 22, 2016

You can read everything in our Health Issue here.

Almost a decade ago, I woke up in extreme pain--my eye was bloodshot and I was experiencing extreme photophobia. When I say my heart was breaking from pain, I mean it. For nights, I sat in the bathtub in the dark. I could barely attend my grad school classes without taking a break outside the room, breathing deeply in and out--trying to convince myself that I wasn't losing my mind. I wasn't going to just die from pain.

Doctors kept telling me I was experiencing contact irritation, but that wasn't the case. How many people does it really take before a sick person can be believed? It took nearly a year to get any clarity at all, actually--I had to keep speaking up, keep saying that I didn't feel normal. That it wasn't OK. At first, I was diagnosed with Uveitis, which is an inflammation of the middle layer of the eye that happens to make Pink Eye look like a fucking unicorn and rainbows dream come true. It later came to be, after years of joint pain and inflammation, that I had Ankylosing Spondylitis, inflammatory arthritis that affects the large joints and the spine. And this is what caused the Uveitis, which is chronic, and which I will suffer from again.

YOU CAN READ EVERYTHING IN OUR HEALTH ISSUE HERE.

It's hard to be a healthy-looking 20-something while having an invisible illness. It's hard to say, "I can't meet up tonight, my knee is killing me." I mean, I'm not 70. My knee?! But the pain continues, and the future is unclear. It makes me lethargic, and it makes me grumpy. Because having arthritis just sounds ridiculous to other people. It also sounds less real, somehow. After all, it's not cancer. I am not dying. That much is true, and I am grateful for that.

I don't think that needs to be the marker, though. I don't think we need to be on death's door to openly discuss the pain of being alive. And with that idea in mind, this issue is for and by everyone with an invisible illness, a mental health issue, a chronic illness or a disability. We'll be publishing content through Friday and you will see a variety of forms--poetry, fiction, essay, comic, photography. We're so honored to have so many beautiful pieces of work, and we're touched that our writers were so vulnerable, so honest, so compassionate.

We had hundreds and hundreds of submissions. It wasn't easy to decline work. It wasn't easy to say no to such heart. Everyone who submitted to this Issue matters to us, and we appreciate everyone who will read, share and create dialogue around this Issue.

I am so thankful for the editorial team here. Extra special thanks to Joanna Valente--who oversaw a lot of the production and edited the majority of this massive issue--and Alaina Leary for spearheading the initial creation of this issue. Huge thanks goes to Nadia Gerrassimenko, who is a fantastic editorial support--from helping with logistics to drafting content to promoting our writers on social media to having a big hand in the aesthetics. We couldn't do it without you.

I can't wait to hear your thoughts on our writers' work. Thank you!

- Lisa Marie Basile

YOU CAN READ EVERYTHING IN OUR HEALTH ISSUE HERE.

A Day in the Life by Bethany Ruth Anderson

August 22, 2016

For the first time in my life I crave cigarettes, I feel the pull of drugs and, though I’ve been vegetarian for ten years, the concept of greasy chicken is tantalizing. I want what isn’t good for me. I want what will kill me first, but I need enjoyment in the process. While I have the capacity to feel, I want to feel it all. I want the aches and the pains and the laughter. I want to consume large amounts of alcohol to make everything funny or interesting, to talk like I have something to say, and to listen likes it matters. I want the morning to be black, the day to be empty--just lying still, concentrating on being alive. The same as every other day, only my body responds and my mind doesn’t matter.

That Time I Was in a Psychiatric Hospital by Lori Stone

August 22, 2016

Then she said, almost in passing, "They said I poured bleach into my eyes, can you imagine such a thing?"

Shades of Noir: Gaspar Noe's Love

August 18, 2016

Gaspar Noe’s Love is a dark and mystical journey of sex and self-discovery. Love is pure but sex is messy. The sexual expression of love is where the drama between hearts plays out in all its sweaty glory.

Luna Luna Mixtape: Ethereal, Ambient Songs for a Calm Work Day

August 17, 2016

Maybe you find it hard to concentrate at your 9-5 or maybe you work from home and need a little pick-me-up. Regardless, these songs are sonically stunning and breathtaking--often taking you into a different world--and transporting you into your deep thoughts. All while you work.

A Review of 'Trance' by Debora Lidov

August 12, 2016

Debora Lidov’s short collection, Trance (Finishing Line Press, $14.49), contains poems of surprise, elegance, originality, wit, irony, beauty, dark humor, precision, pain, and lyricism. That is a long praise-list and could set up a reader for impossibly elevated expectations, but the high-stakes’ focus of these poems makes anything less than a full layout of its attributes a little lame.

‘Nowhere To Grow But Up’: The Educational Funnel

August 11, 2016

When we’re young, we can say things like, “I want to be an astronaut and a rock star” or “I want to be president one day, but also a princess.” And we can get away with it. We can get away with these extravagant ambitions because, starting out on our journey, we are encouraged to explore, to be curious, and to be everything that we can be.

I Used To Be A Judgmental Elitist (Overcoming Snob Behavior)

August 10, 2016

It is really astounding how many self-proclaimed “open minded” people are actually closed off vicious judgmental creatures. It’s hilarious, actually. Then again, my main mode of handling sad stuff is via laughter, so there we have it.

A Review of Puma Perl’s 'Retrograde'

August 9, 2016

Puma is New York City. Puma is why New York City is cool. I read her full-length collection Retrograde (great weather for media, 2014) on the subway, while listening to The Cure, walking around LES, and wandering at Coney Island. In many ways, the collection is best read while traveling, as so much of it concerns human movement, both physical and emotional.

What I Learned From Fiona Apple & Gwen Stefani

August 8, 2016

I was 15 when I first heard Fiona Apple’s Tidal and No Doubt’s Tragic Kingdom. Side by side, the albums have little correlation. No Doubt’s 14-track ska/punk masterpiece is full of mostly upbeat anthems like “Spiderwebs,” “Excuse Me, Mister” and “Just a Girl.” Not long after No Doubt’s videos made it to MTV’s lineup, avid grrl fans were buying Dickies and “wife beaters” and incorporating too many sit-ups into their afternoons as a result of Gwen’s tomboy-meets-sexpot look.

What I Didn’t Learn In Writing Workshops

August 5, 2016

I loved going to graduate school and being immersed in writing. Having the opportunity to study with my mentors and peers was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life—and I learned a lot during the two years it took for me to get my degree. But there was something auspiciously missing from most of our discussions— how to create diverse characters.

L'Appel Du Vide (The Call Of The Void), Non-Fiction by Lillian Brown

August 3, 2016

The TV always needs to be on. Sleep rarely comes, but having a dark, silent room certainly aids to the insomnia. My particular comfort in crime shows can be a bit disconcerting, but it’s just background. The television is even sometimes left on during sex, much to the beloved’s chagrin, but serves as a quiet pastime for myself after he inevitably dozes off.

From Where She Watches, Fiction By Alexandra Cohl

August 1, 2016

After that first night, I decided her daughter would always return right around 8:30 p.m. And her mother would sit there, with her hidden bun and slicked back hair, with her bald head and her roaming eyes. And I could watch, only feeling a slight twinge of pain from the nails on my wrist. They’re not quite as sharp as a razor, but still effective; just enough, as Mother would say. Like the time I was baking with her and she said to put "just enough" salt in the cookie batter. Too much would ruin the taste. But my hands would shake and it was hard to get "just enough" perfect. After dropping a fourth of the bottle in the mix, we had to throw the batter away. It’s damaged, Mother would say. Damaged just enough.