Litro #169:South Korea, finding the soul in Seoul, order your copy today
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Are there limits to unrequited love?
A story that feels doubly poignant in the Me Too era….
A Tale of Discontent and Desire….
Translated by Wendell Ricketts. “A concert north of the arctic circle goes not exactly to plan in today’s #StorySunday, “Midnight Sun Hip Hop Foundation”, by Daniele De Serto …
She turns toward her reflection in the mirror. She knows now that she had been wrong, those months ago when she thought she had seen herself for the first time.
… it is a story Mummy likes to tell again and again, and I think she will continue to tell it till time itself comes to an end.
Go out with your friends. Drink. Play billiards. Smoke a joint. Smoke many joints. In your newfound exuberance try ecstasy, acid, shrooms, whatever you can. What’s the harm?
February is when jacarandas bloom in Bangalore, carpeting the edges of streets purple like an extravagance of confetti.
They didn’t let me see the body. My father dragged the crackling blue plastic through early November snow. My stomach knotted.
The heady fermented smell of guava filled the room as Amalia’s mother turned off the blender, tasted the peachy-pink mixture, and added more sugar.
We will give the name chronotope (literally ‘time space’) to the intrinsic connectedness of temporal and spatial relationships that are artistically expressed in literature.
“I’m no more your mother Than the cloud that distils a mirror to reflect its own slow Effacement at the wind’s hand. —Sylvia Plath, “Morning Song”
Autumn snakes through the suburbs, claiming one tree after another. It sheds a skin of dead leaves.
label me all you want, but i’m an easy, logical man of faith nonetheless.
Regnauld was somewhere further up towards the transept, turned toward the statuary of the chapel of Sainte Thérèse.
campfire crackles, spits sparks into black sky, crackle like old woman laughter.