Couldn’t quite perfect your piece before our submissions deadline last night? You’re in luck! We are extending the deadline until Tuesday, December 20 at 11:59 pm. Take a break from finals studying this weekend and send us your poetry, prose, and art!
this one’s for new york city and the rolling bitumen
beneath my feet on meserole street
the soggy subway cars that inject you
into the city and hide you momentarily beneath
the earth’s crust
this one’s for the guy on the corner deli
who once put chicken in my blt but its
okay because he asks me how you
doing sweety where you been that’s three dollars
this one’s for the exaggeration, hyperbole,
overreaction that is inherent everywhere-
on prince and broadway, bedford and 6th,
houston and lafayette,
this one’s for the friends that call me,
for the friends that don’t, the friends that will
and the ones that won’t
for the three-legged dog that doesn’t quit:
this one’s for you
the jellyfish stain on the sidewalk of rue du bac
holy scripture rolling papers
sad plants in sad pots
orange gel nails that pluck eyelashes so easily
eating peaches in october
fur coats full of smoke
grey water running a small gutter river,
collecting cigarettes and tiny debris
tripping on the same jagged step
and backwards the next day
Pitches for Ironic Listicles:
- Addictions that are problematic but don’t quite warrant rehab
- Names of men who are more likely to go through a divorce
- Tramp stamps that defy the patriarchy
- DIY projects you can do with your sex toys
- Halloween costumes that show you were raised in a shame based American religious tradition
- Reviews of instruments my Asian mother made me try as a child
- 7 ways I’ve dishonored her, my family, and my cow
- Names for pet cows
- Random estimations of each U.S. president’s stamina
- Stage names for the Obama family
- Memes that express condolences appropriately
- Fan theories following the 44th season finale of “America”
- Birthday gifts I’ll show polite gratitude towards but won’t love (it’s 11/29 btw)
I profess: I often find myself ill-equipped to defend my political beliefs. This is mostly because I get all my political news from “The Simpsons” and satirical reports; I argue my points by saying things like “because it’s not nice” or—once—by crying.. My dad had tried to teach me and my sister political philosophy when we were kids; he asked us, a five-year-old and a seven-year-old, “In a totalitarian society, would you rather be a master or a slave?” I answered, and when he asked “Why?” I promptly burst into tears.
We have now placed a misogynist, baseless, pink-faced racist in charge of our nation and I again find myself near tears. Questions which were once offered as philosophical brainfood reveal themselves as crucial and troubling realities. As I grow older, I close the distance between me and my bureaucratic rulers by shedding layers of legality. I am gaining rights as I inch forever closer to the administrative flame and I’ve learned that it isn’t always going to be Barack Obama and that it isn’t always going to feel safe or pleasant or nice. In fact, it will hurt this time.
When my home state Pennsylvania voted red, I wondered which of my neighbors and former teachers and classmates voted with the majority of the country that agreed to value fantastical extremes over basic human decency. Is your name in my yearbook? Were you at that potluck dinner in 2009? Was I at your ten-year-old birthday party, did you teach chemistry, did I lend you my bow resin at orchestra, did we wait for the after school bus together? My paranoia is now manifold.
It was 7 a.m. in Paris when I found out the president would be someone who wanted to harm those I love and care about. That morning, I think I gave up for a couple hours. I texted exclamation points and sad emojis to my parents. Then I made the decision to wear sweatpants to class.I didn’t send any emails or check the weather and when I felt rain pouring outside, I didn’t open my umbrella. I felt sad and I showed it—but this is not good. When your enemy gains undeniable power, defend yourself: take out your super rusty purple umbrella, don your poncho, your rainboots, build dams, give damns!
There is no more “we” or “our.” Whatever unity existed before was a mask of manners which this election has violently stripped away. This victory of the hateful, ignorant, predominately white voter is one I will not claim as my own. But Hillary Clinton’s concession speech, her steady tone and spine-chilling optimism—that is all mine to cherish. That, and a regressive and noxious next four years.Smiling through gritted teeth, I am horribly happy that I can feel this Faustian range of emotion. At least I now know where I stand.
–Audrey Deng, West 10th Copy Editor
Cigarette : 10
(1) Finely chopped, toasted leaves.
(2) Tight packed, thin rolled
Miniature kindle, ignites on contact, brings that
(3) Slow alveoli burn.
(4) A chemical kicker, send tingles to your fingertips
(5) Composure with a touch – a deep inhale after
Bad news or rough sex. (6) Categorize:
Social / Solo / Habit / Trend –
(7) “I just buy them on the weekends” and “Not in front of the kids”
(8) Hand-held gas pump, tubular tar transmitter
Nestled in the hollows of four chambers,
Two pulsating balloons and millions of blue-red threads.
(9) Boxes 20 compulsive habits.
(10) Pockets (14 types of) cancer.
Attention all NYU undergrads: On Thursday, November 3rd, at 7:30pm, join West 10th for a poetry workshop in Seminar Room B at Palladium Hall.
Bring up to 750 words of fiction/nonfiction to receive some feedback from your West 10th Editors. See you there!
Just a reminder that we are still accepting submissions until December 15th!
High: Making plans with a literary-minded friend to attend a StorySLAM and getting excited about the night’s theme—something like “Doubt” or “Haunted” or “Hot Mess.”
Low: Sneaking your phone out during class or work at exactly 3 pm the week before the event, refreshing the page every few seconds, in order to snag tickets before they sell out.
Low: Joining one of two massive lines outside of the Housing Works Bookstore Café nearly an hour before doors open, then flooding inside when they do, desperate to score a seat (or a stair).
High: Hearing the storytellers’ intriguing and hilarious first lines.
Low: Uncomfortably laughing when storytellers tell inappropriate or overtly graphic sexual stories.
High: Hearing the storytellers nail their last lines.
Low: Uncomfortably laughing when the storytellers’ jokes don’t quite hit.
High: Seeing a storyteller take the mic for the first time and deliver one of the best stories of the night.
High: Cracking up at the host’s on-the-spot reactions to the audience’s write-in stories.
High: Noticing the diversity and friendliness of the crowd (though, admittedly, a high percentage of audience members are carrying publishers’ tote bags).
High: Laughing collectively for two hours at the woes of living in New York, at the quirks of being a literature lover, and at the woes and quirks of being a literature lover living in New York.
–Alyssa Matesic, Editor-in-Chief