Wasuremono by Rachel Davidson
忘れ物はございませんか？ Have you forgotten anything? The refrain in schools, buses, trains, bathroom stalls, any place you leave in Japan. And at the elementary schools where I teach, there are lost-and-found corners for otoshimono, lit. "dropped things." Everything ends up there, from cartoon-branded hand towels to tiny coats, from hair scrunchies to gloves; the adorable debris of everyday life in Japan. 忘れ物はございませんか？ Have you forgotten any piece of yourself? Hearing the reminder repeat
Art and Parcel, a project by Edie Adams
“Everything in the world exists to end up as a postcard.” —Tom Phillips, “The Postcard Vision” ************ ********** **************** ********************* ******************* ***************** ****************** ***************** ******************** ************************ ************************* ********************** ******************** #art #postcards #forgiven
“It’s A Strange Feeling, Having Your Heart Remember Something Your Mind Cannot”* by contributor
Growing up, I was so attached and in tune with my mother that when she picked me up from my after school program (where at least 100 kids frequented) I could tell she'd arrived from the sound of her keys clinking down the hall, long before she ever came into view. The sound of her laugh was more familiar to me than my own, and I could describe to a tee the exact shade of reddish, goldish, brown her hair was. When you’re that intrinsically linked to someone, you can’t imagine
WEIRD HONEY//FORGOTTEN JOURNAL from Annelise Stabenau
5.21 “ eyes + Desire early responses—> gravity-based mature responses—> spatial-based 5.31 Libraries are frightening b/c they require maintenance. What is it about books. Do books make you laugh do they have laughs like 6.1 SWEDISH DANCE HISTORY Stop Dancing + Start Cooking 6.2 tongue—> 1st muscle you learn to control stiff tongue=stiff spine equilibrium responses=balance reflexes= specific stimulus + specific response When spine is low-tone, children W-SIT b/c the wi
Fancy-Free by Rebecca Clingman
She kissed him on the side of his wrist, in the little hollow made by the bone by the thumb. It was her favorite spot to kiss, and until tonight it had cost her dearly every time she did it. But here in the dark, it was a useless trinket she felt safe taking freely, now that she was running away. He murmured in contentment. Only in sleep did he betray any sign of comfort at her touch. So, she did it again, now feeling generous, before gingerly moving his arm up and off over h
An Open Apology Letter To My Past Crushes by contributor
For every time I walked a little slower on the route I knew you took to class for every not-so-subtle glance in your direction for every ill-fated invitation I extended I apologize from the bottom of my heart which was filled with longing for you, for too long Perhaps you were oblivious; perhaps you knew, and carried on, hoping my affection would simply fade But I was shamefully shameless bordering on delirious because desire is the want of what you cannot have, a slow burn i
Selections from a Family Trip to Iceland by Juliet Eldred
#photography #forgiven
Have you ever seen a portal? by Winona Bechtle
Forgive me Gyllenhaal for I have sinned. I know that I’ve done wrong through my thoughts, my actions, and my covetousness of your image in the early 2000’s. I have gone my own way and no longer put you at the center of my life. Please help me to follow you more closely every day as Southpaw approaches, and live a life which gives glory back to you. I pray this in Maggie’s name, amen. I used to include Jake Gyllenhaal in my prayers, back when I said prayers in an originally mi
June 12th & natural history, two poems by Amanda Dissinger
June 12th Imagine if you lived 12 years in Greenpoint,
imagine if you were the one to take me to the river
imagine if i had stayed the night, if i had swallowed my skittishness with aspirin that morning
and imagine if there were only landlines
imagine if I was the one to control the weather, if i could be the only one to put you in your place
imagine if we lost track of time, couldn’t separate six months from yesterday
if all we had was the heat, all we had was the way
BBHMM (An Open Love Letter to Rihanna) by Leah Donnella
On a beautiful spring day in third grade, I lent Julie Pillion fifty cents to buy blue raspberry warheads at the school store. And by lent, I mean gave, because I never saw that fifty cents again. Later that day, Julie gave one of the warheads to Bobby DiSerafino, knowing full well that I had a crush on him. They ate the warheads together while making cute little “omg these are so sour!” faces by the slides. I creepily watched them, horrified, from across the playground.