

Christian McDonough is a twentysomething writer from Texas, a writer of one thousand poems, likely more, at this point. He has also written a novel, his first, coming out in just a few weeks. His Cunus.
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.
A wide range of artists from a variety of disciplines deliver sinister incantations.
The Tyrant Queen of Iron City presents us with a bouquet of petty grievances.
The freaked-out, bored, alienated observations of the Beautiful Boy looking out on his suburban purgatory.
An imminently depressing, short, contemplative piece of empty, alien-world-wandering SF.
An attempt to locate a distinctly feminine “non-tyranical monstrosity” in Ted K’s life and work