Tag Archives: fiction

Revival this is a series: previously Whitist Apologiaby Janae Acharya-Ramirez She-Her Cohen*New York Times, July 6, 2042Every high school freshman knows the history of the minstrel show in and its role in maintaining white supremacy. Thus the inherent problemicity in its recent resurrection, in parody of the original, as the “white show”, replacing black stereotypes ofContinue reading “Friday’s Fable”

“Anyone seen my collar?”Danny frowned at the silent room.“Bastards.”John’s chin nestled neatly into his wattles as he squinted at the wig he was turning about in his lap.“I haven’t.” He managed, somehow, through the tiered mass of compressed flesh.Eddie, sewing a pair of lederhosen, grunted negative through teeth holding a thread tight. Danny glimpsed himselfContinue reading “Tent Show Revival”

“You could get a coach.” “I don’t know. I heard most of those guys actually work for the Inclusivity Commission.” “My sister got one for her father-in-law.” Mark waited as a woman passed. “She isn’t sure it helped, but he did great in the interview and he’s still at home.” James shrugged slightly.“I don’t know.Continue reading “The Golden Years”

An indifferent freeway dissects Forlaine down the middle from east to west, embracing it at each end in its curving, tendril-like on and off ramps. Main Street intersects the freeway at forty-five degrees, spreading out on either side a gaudy leg tattooed with fast food franchises and chain stores standing out against the rustic remnants, someContinue reading “The Siege”

“Well private collections are a problem, certainly. We have no idea how many are out there. What constitutes a collection, also, is a legitimate question.”Herbert perked up at this.“Yes. That’s my concern. Say a guy has, in the classic example, an old newspaper announcing the moon landing…”Genero looked at him with sly sympathy.“Well, if thisContinue reading “"In the year three thousaaaaaand….!"”

A narcotic debauch of two or more months came to a close one month ago. Too small and unexceptional to warrant detail, a mere echo really of the self-inflicted catastrophe that is my past. Aftershocks years after the collision of youth’s flight with reality’s hard ground, growing progressively fainter as they pass through in expandingContinue reading “Asylum”