Happy Tuesday, all! Apologies for the belated email.
You can find our new issue here, which includes a story from Tegan Moore, "How High Your Gods Can Count":
The tourist squats with her handful of peanuts on the very spot where, so long ago, the bewitched spoon beat Ku'uk Atan to death. It was no special spoon, just coarse carved wood, the same one Ku'uk Atan had used to stir our corn porridge every day. But the gods make wicked allies of whatever they like, and so it was with the fatal spoon.
A poem from Annette Frost, "Agadez Love Stories":
Have you heard of the tree of Ténéré?
In the whole sea of sand, in the roll
of the dunes, in the pitch of the mountains
there was only one. It stood like an elder,
crooked and sun-scarred, arms like a scarecrow's
raised to the sky. Then one night comes a man
who's drunken and blind, or it could be fatigue,
or the curse of desert. He drives through the wasteland
of sand and mirages and into the tree of Ténéré.
April's poetry podcast, read by the ever excellent Anaea Lay.
And a review of Nick Mamatas's The Last Weekend, written by Christina Scholz:
Nick Mamatas is at his best here, questioning authority and dishing out severe criticism to everyone from derivative horror writers via the U.S. bureaucracy and its policies, to your common, everyday sheeple—while providing dark, noir-ish entertainment.
Enjoy!
--Kate