

Third, third. Third. I ask for the 3-hole, they play me leadoff. I asked for third. Third. Three. That’s three-three-three, number thirty-three. 0-3.
June 9th, 2026, I crouch on a street corner in downtown Manhattan to re-splint my broken finger. I am four days sick with an unidentified viral illness.
There is a sense of physical enormity to the 1994 album Glass Giant, by Speculum Fight, that I’m not quite sure how to account for.
A voyage through four incidents of predation. The mysterious, the hunted, the inhuman, the trapped.
A fragmented tale of a teenager tormented by receiving a cursed image in their DMs.
A “mutilated detective story” by David C. Porter set in the exurban hinterlands, NTTN follows two investigators as they listlessly attempt to solve a rash of brutal crimes, using an ominous closed-circuit television station as their North Star.
Grief as a conduit for passage beyond the veil, always returning us to life.
Two collections of poetry on grief.
An envelope opened, photos scattered on the table—all that remains of a prior life.
The poetic conjuring of a backwoods haruspex guiding us into the charged experience of encounters with hanging animal corpses, forbidding landmarks, and crumbling ruins deep in the forest.
A notebook left on a bedroom floor, mechanically pinched up and deposited in a numbered plastic baggie by a uniformed man.
[Man]will know his fault by the sun which stands in fiery witness and the wind which breathes its judgement in the final silence of the world.