"A literary magazine all about censorship. We take inspiration from the little magazines of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. We welcome poetry, prose and visual art, as experimental as they come!"
Theme:
Censorship
Vibe: Send us your best but less intimidating
Response time:
?
Payment:
No
Simultaneous submissions:
Yes
Previously published:
No
Submission fee:
Free
Expedited submissions:
No
Available in print:
No
Examples online:
Yes

Important stuff

Cool theme
Active on social media
Make you feel at home: cozy, meme-friendly, a sense of community, all that stuff
Helpful: reposting other opportunities on their Twitter:)

Genres

👌

Fiction

No specific limitations
👌

Nonfiction

No specific limitations
👌

Poetry

No specific limitations
👌

Art

No specific limitations

Examples

'Be Positive' by Janaya Fuller-Evans

(excerpt)
I am special. I am special. Please, let me be special. No, that's wrong. I am special. I am filled with universal radiance and I am loved by the universe and I am rich, I have lots of money. (Except I don't.) Stop. (Except there is $15.68 in my bank account) Begin again. I am filled with the opulence of a thousand suns. I have all the wealth I need inside of me. I am special. My bank account is full. I am not hungry. No nots. Just ams. (I could really go for a sandwich.) Not now. No nots.
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'Repetition' by Ben Riddle

(excerpt)
I am sitting with a backpack by the side of the road kept company by a sign that says some time a bus will come - I love the assumptions that humans make about one another, that assume a frigid kind of collective cornerstone a chilled distilled relationship with trust that presumes my clock matches your clock, or that we both see the same colour red,
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'RED FLAG' by HLR

(excerpt)
Overnight, Cordelia built The Savoy out of silk. It was extraordinary. I’ve never seen a spider web so complicated, so stylish. Multiple floors, layers upon layers of intricate netting, stretching from one corner of the window to the other, with remarkably solid foundations and an impressive roof that glittered in the sunlight. It was too big a space for herself alone and every day I expected to find that her family or her lover had moved in. But no, just a fly here and there, caught, I imagined, when I’d carefully crack open the window to let out cigarette smoke.
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'THE VOICES IN MY FATHER'S STUDY' by Sarah Robin

(excerpt)
I was sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of the fire playing with some toy soldiers when I heard the voices for the first time. I wasn’t scared, but I was curious as they weren’t voices I had heard before. I thought maybe my mother had visitors in the lounge, however when I passed her to go to the bathroom, she was sitting doing her needlework with nobody but Winston, our old cat. When I returned to the study, I paused by the doorway and looked at my father – well, I say I looked at my father, he was always hidden by The Times in the evenings. It was a comical sight, like the newspaper had its own pair of tailored trousers and shiny brown boots, with puffs of cigar smoke occasionally rising from behind.
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