"Our mission is to publish literature and visual art illustrating diversity in thought and experience, capturing the crucial narratives and images of our current cultural moment, as well as awareness of the shifting edges of genre."
Open:
Yes, till September 30, 2022
Vibe: Send us your best but less intimidating
Response time:
3 months
Payment:
No
Simultaneous submissions:
Yes
Previously published:
No
Submission fee:
$3
Expedited submissions:
No
Available in print:
No
Examples online:
Yes

Important stuff

Active on social media
Submission fee

Genres

👌

Fiction

Max words: 2500
👌

Nonfiction

Max words: 2500
👌

Poetry

Max pieces: 4
👌

Art

Max pieces: 8

Examples

'There Are No Birds In My House' by Derek Graf

(excerpt)
In the next stage of human evolution, we’ll all be able to afford our groceries, medical bills, abortions, and antiviral prescriptions. The next stage of human evolution will arrive in the form of paid-in-full insurance premiums, complimentary dental exams, marriage counseling, and oil changes.
Read the full piece in the magazine

'Cartoon Obvious' by Eric Roy

(excerpt)
Why did I have to take the last fried chicken thigh when I know ‘mom’ prefers the stronger flavored dark? Why arrive at Sunday dinner in tight t-shirt touting cheap, discontinued beer? Does it matter I’m nearly the same age as her husband? Mosquitos strafe my face & coo accusations in my ear. Honestly, walking alongside this suburban street, I must look lost in a comic book style fighting cloud complete with cats & dogs chasing each other in jet-draft orbits.
Read the full piece in the magazine

'GENERATIONS PASS BEFORE ME' by Laura Cherry

(excerpt)
I’m standing here counting silly hats in the uber-trendy French bakery with the subway tile and bistro tables, the hipster coffee and five-dollar croissants. I’m counting blanket scarves and perfect eyebrows, cropped jackets and distressed jeans, high-waist pants and gold-zipper backpacks. I’m counting messy buns and immaculate blowouts.
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'DIANE' by Nina Rodenko

(excerpt)
I never knew I was poor until I visited Diane’s apartment. She had everything I ever wanted: her own room, her own closet, her own candy drawer with chocolate from abroad, and a piggy bank with not just coins, but paper money. Her cat was purebred, her fridge was packed, her telephone receiver was portable, while I still had my red rotary phone with some of the digits erased. When Diane came to my house, her eyes curiously followed the patterns of the ceiling cracks and rusty soviet radiators with my grandpa’s socks on it. I could read the bewilderment on her face and a silent question of why my carpets were hung on the wall above the couch. When my mom served us chicken broth, Diane looked at the polkadot bowl and refused to touch the spoon.
Read the full piece in the magazine

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