An independent, ad-free leftist magazine of critical essays, poetry, fiction, and art.
by Mel G. Last night, I dreamt of bombs dropped on babies. I woke to the echoes of screaming children in my ears, nearly an hour before my alarm. It’s hard to accurately describe the violent combination of rage and dismay that I felt this morning, the images of broken bodies of innocents fading away in the dark of pre-dawn.
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by James Anderson. Pop-cultural touchstones like Baby Yoda, Willy Wonka, Coca-Cola, Rocky Balboa, and Arrested Development may seem like unlikely symbols to juxtapose with a militant labor action. For graduate student workers at the University of California, Santa Cruz, however, pop culture references in meme form have served as the raw material fueling a wildcat strike that ripped through campus as part of a cost-of-living adjustment (COLA) campaign.
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by Mark Steven. The thing about realism / is industry really means / extraction but extraction.
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by Christopher Costello. Every urn is always a grenade / Let this one not explode in your hand / All our bodies are already acts of war, / so drop yours from a goddamn airplane.
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by M.K. Anderson. Now that three major candidates have added this policy to their platforms, disability activists from across the political spectrum are alarmed. We, as Marxists, should be as well. We must oppose this policy for what it is: an attempt to foist eugenics on the country to cover up the violence of capitalism.
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by Shane Burley. Nøkken And The Grim embody just about every feature of a dark music subculture that makes many uncomfortable. Paganism, romanticism, anti-modernity, deep ecology—a miasma of radical expressions that tend to hew either leftist or very, very far to the right. This is why so many have written off the neofolk genre entirely as the work of fascists.
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by Dakotah J. On our camping field trips, they’d say, / “Whoever is lightest when we leave wins.” / Sunscreen was a must for us kids.
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by Brendan Joyce The breeze through the sycamore trees’ sickly leaves that screams worsening working conditions, the squirrel taunting the cat from its clicking perch, the possums hunting rats below in the arson lot, the rats getting hunted, the cloud of bats rising from the school’s roof into October orange cloud cover, the spider…
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by Sean Bonney. It’s all visible now. Everything. It’s just that all the meanings have changed, and the names no longer apply. We lean against walls, our hands over our faces, and watch the parade. We are naked and frightened.
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by Matt Broomfield Cover photo courtesy of the poet. off the shoulders of the front lines there are mothers stirring great big pots of beans to feed the solid-bellied women in the killing machine off the shoulders of the frontlines there are families displaced three times each time in the rotting belly of a…
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