Crack Cocaine Consider me crack cocaine. Because I am extremely addictive. You won’t be able to think of anything but me once you start your insatiable abuse. I will violently tear your eyes from anything of remote importance in your life and consume the hours of your days. I will steal the souls of you… Continue reading Poetry By Noah Towbin
Poetry by Anisha Saripalli, Photography by Steph Strickland For my dear friend, Carmen Schentrup - Voices, A pitter-patter of sound, A symphony of words heard before you’re seen. Enemies turn the other way When they hear the music. I run into your arms, my friend. I can hear your voice In a crowd. - February… Continue reading Voices
Short Story by Noah Towbin Stage IIIB breast cancer. That’s how I died. Now, let me tell you how I lived. I was born on September 23, 1968 to a reasonably poor family of migrant farmworkers. We would move with the seasons, sequestering ourselves in the South during the chilling reign of winter and following… Continue reading How I Lived
Poetry by Gina Crespo Cardinals and mockingbirds perch on the dense bark of an orchid tree. The one outside my childhood window. The one that left me bruised like decomposing mangoes in the springtime sun or featherless birds displaced from their nest. Crumpled pages covered in smiley faces and crude butterflies lay next to worn… Continue reading Lost Youth
Story by Vivianne Wagner Isn’t it astounding how some moments seem to drag on forever, while others appear to end immediately? It’s as if time moves on a dilation continuum, sometimes zooming in and blowing up moments in intricate, excruciating detail, other times zooming out into the distant regions of irrelevance. We may have engineered… Continue reading Short Story: The Dilation and Constriction of Time
Story by Derek Pena, Featured Illustration from Pinterest As the police cruiser pulled away from where I sat on a bench, I observed the bedlam of a neighborhood around me in the early morning gloom. There was a group of children racing across the street, kicking a dented can amongst each other. The house across… Continue reading Ear to the Ground
Story by Michael Dorsey I am a third-year student here at the University of Florida. I think that means I’m meant to have more experience and more readiness for post-grad life than, say, a freshman. I am certain I possess neither. But I do know Gainesville—or as my friends refer to it, the “G-Spot”—pretty well. … Continue reading Beautiful, Sweaty Gainesville
