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Reflections on deep time, archaeology, and the origins of civilization, prompted by the accusation of thought-crimes by a reader in an online comment

Has the world already ended? Are we dead? Neither literally nor metaphorically, this essay argues that we have become spectral beings in our image of the world.

Imagine you have survived the ecological crisis of the next hundred years and you are writing as if you were of that era about the state of things.

It was so delightful last Thursday night to meet up with my fellow-authors, Geoffreyjen Edwards and Richard Andrews, whom I am far more used to seeing on video-calls through my flat laptop screen! We were meeting in Quebec City at the bookstore-café Mo …

A poem contemplating Icarus’s flight, intertwining ancient themes with modern pathos. This is complemented by images of the sculpture that inspired the poem and an audio performance by the Editor.

I wish I had been a child then // long, slender / circular years / peeled years / sloshing around / in the fluids of my thinking

What are we to make of a poem that begins “None of this happened:” except to see where the author takes us, what other tricks she has in store, what detours we must take?

An FBI raid on a grave-robbing missionary; stolen sacred objects; ancient artifacts; hundreds of human remains; fears of an atomic weapon in a remote farmhouse. And even, perhaps, the wrath of spirits.

Despite scenes of peril on the ocean, the book moves slow, full of details about everyday survival in this harsh environment. By the end, the reader has witnessed great changes reflected the microcosm of the characters’ lives.

We’re inviting submissions of short works—fiction or non-fiction, poetry, prose, or other experimental forms—that explore all the many contradictory faces of paradox.

“And what do you know about paradox?” Grolier asked his younger sister, Mailka. “The harmony of opposites? But I still don’t know what that m… means.”

A virgin will rebuild from ash the burning library at Alexandria. She will not take any prisoners. Her large eyes will be tests that you must pass. For a third time will the Argo sail, outperforming Voyager One. You will learn of how this ship is not different from your body. It will move beyond the speed of light.

Language has served as a way to bridge a perceived gap between consciousnesses who believe themselves to be separate. By another reckoning, language has served as a crutch to help us hobble through the woundedness of feeling separate.

My song is simple / Because I am simple. / I need no complex language / To sing my truth / No adjectives or adverbs / No alliteration, / No similes or rhyme / I speak directly to your being / I use the voice God gave me / To sing His praise.

In this essay, I explore the Somali lullabies from a close reading of their texts. While singing their love to the babies, Somali women also express their sentiments towards social issues that reflect women’s traditional roles in the pastoral society.

This chapter from Richard Andrews’ debut novel has a bit of everything: sex, humor, tragedy, adventure… and of course, music. In these pages, we meet young Chris Hunter and his Aussie bandmates, just after a terrible accident has derailed their dreams of making it big and changed their lives forever.

Coming from Montréal’s bustling scene of graphic-novel creators, Cab’s main character is a painter struggling with creative block while living semi-legally with his friends in a building on the verge of being condemned.

“AI, will you write this poem for me? / AI, will you give me a hug? / AI, will you read my daughters a bedtime story?”

A thrilling yet understated crime drama focused on the relationship between a police detective and a woman whose husband has died in a suspicious climbing accident, distinguished by the complexity of its characters.

These three inaugural releases from a label that “focuses on quality and works out subtle differences in each work” offer a range of sounds, textures, and objects to explore.

The little screen illuminated my pillow in a pool of light. I knew it was wrong of me to set up the profiles, with names like “Shining Star” and “Dark Forest”, but I was feeling lonely and vindictive. My fingertips swiped across photos and words.

The danger of cynicism is getting what you believe in:  Nothing.

Strange, the power of the past—how our spiritual ancestors become our future masters.

Never mind poetry or prose, good literature is the art of friction.

Surrender & let go. Do not Skip Ad. The ontological flood is here. Aperspectival madness and shamanic psychosis are all yours via this DEEPSnakes original.

In a work that blurs the boundaries between futurism and very recent history, wild imagination and straightforward reportage, this piece takes us through the phases of tumultuous transformation in our present/future shock. Reality ain’t what it used to be. Enjoy the ride.

In the age of information overload, our guides are curators.

Anything freed from the marble is an angel.  Never cease chiseling…

Jordan Kurella’s novella is a modern fable that bounces back and forth between a modern day university, a music department, and the nether world of Hades, the Greek version of Hell.

A working definition of Love: we started talking and never stopped…