Happy Monday! Here's our new issue, which includes a friendly alien:
In a rush Nina’s short, dense body pushes into the room, snatching away her things and throwing them across the room. There are slams and crashes and ripples in the air, and I burble with the sensory input. I have come to associate this behavior with human rage, but it feels so good against my semi-permeable skin.
I teach you how to nick the skin between your fingers, worry the cutopen and blow on it with hot salty breath, and wait for slow joints to
grow from the slit. Your new fingers are especially skilled at pulling
up loose floorboards and playing with the tangle of my Spanish moss hair.
Some Clute:
Surely we have come into an era, which is to say we inhabit a planet, where Truth and Beauty no longer embrace in a chymical marriage which we are enjoined to submit to: disobedience to old canons does not take much wisdom on our part, merely eyes innocent of expectation. Being beauteous has become a form of sarcasm, though our nostalgia for epiphanic moments, when the expression of some concinnity we can almost grasp seems almost graspable, does seem to continue to lurk.
And some short story-focused reviews looking at collections by Kelly Link and Steven Millhauser, and (first up) the anthology Stories for Chip. Enjoy!
-- Niall