It’s a bit like throwing a party. We send out invitations to strangers, and this is where it all begins. It’s BYOB, your RSVP will be analyzed for errata. Some ask, Will there be party favors? No, not yet. Even so, they come in droves; they pack the stoop and we turn people away with, Sorry; maybe next time? We slip a crowd in through the back; the house fills up and the room brims with stories, it’s righteous loud and hot when the clock strikes twelve: Gong! A whoop goes up and someone throws open the window and yells, Yeah! This is Issue Three!
More from The Journal
- Visual Poetry
- Visual Poetry
- Visual Poetry
- Postcard Prose
The One About the Dead Man in Laurel Canyon
By Lauren Barbato
I’d been thinking about leaving. I’d been thinking how there’s something about out here. Before long it’s a new January and you’re hungover with a heartache for a man you won’t see for several years until he pops up on that very popular, critically-acclaimed sitcom with that actress you learned to like, then hate, then feign indifference abou
- Poetry
Two Poems by Renee Emerson
The leak in your breathing/ tube makes a cartoon squeak./ It takes two nurses, silent/ as nuns, to place you/ in my arms...
- Poetry
Two Poems by John Randall
If I have already/ gone insane/ but I want to get/ crazier yet,/ what’s my move?/ Go outsane?
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