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Soldiers Bring the War Back Home

by Aimee Molloy

Local

When there’s a war going on around you, there’s not a lot of time to think.

New New Holland?

by Peter Lamborn Wilson

Express

People seem to be thinking: “Secession… hmm…What a good idea!”

Petah Coyne: Above and Beneath the Skin

by Daniel Baird

Art

I remember wandering into a small, shabby old church on the outskirts of Mexico City, and encountering a crude, worm-eaten wooden statue of Jesus. Perilously at its base was a mountain of molten, smoldering candles, guttering wicks sticking up from the lumpy mound of white wax, the rivulets streaming down, looking remarkably like tears.

Noah Sheldon

by Roger White

ArtSeen

“Plywood Fountain,” an artwork with a perfectly descriptive title, occupies one room of Almost Vegetarian, Noah Sheldon’s first solo show at Southfirst Gallery in Williamsburg. “Plywood Fountain” is an unadorned four-by-four-foot polyurethaned birch box fitted with an electric pump emitting a jet of water, which takes on an iridescent sheen from three colored lights submerged in its basin.

The East(ern) and the Western

by David N. Meyer

Film

Years ago author V.S Naipaul was sitting roadside at some desolate pass on the Pakistan/Afghanistan border and this tribal kid crested the trail.

ArtSeen

in dialogue: bad, clown, bad

by Jason Grote and Sheila Callaghan

Theater

Playwrights Sheila Callaghan and Jason Grote recently saw the Undermain Theater’s production of Jeffrey M. Jones’s play A Man’s Best Friend, and they discussed the play in Sheila’s Brooklyn kitchen.

Conversion in Connecticut

by Martha King

Fiction

It was only eleven in the morning, and it was a school day, but there were groups of high school kids at the bay beach. With cans of beer, with tape decks and car radios turned up loud; with pimples on their mouths, and expensive cars, and the drifting intermittent scent of reefer.

Robert Frank Doesn’t Live Here Anymore

by Brenda Coutlas

Poetry

I’ve never seen a bag of trash, not even on Friday, which is big trash night, in front of his house. Where does he leave it?

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