Acéphale or the Initiatory Illusion: Paule Thévenin and André Masson, trans. from French by Rainer J. Hanshe
In the mid-1930s, during a flagitious political era, Georges Bataille founded the journal Acéphale as a protest against the horrors of Nazism, all forms of fascism, and decadent democracy. In addition to serving politically as a contra-force to the populist spirit of the times, Acéphale was also to function aesthetically as a Dionysiac contagion... Read More
One Poem by Ali Power
weeks go by / you’re watching a black & white trilogy / with someone you resurrected / from a plane of holograms / who gifts you a hologram moon / you’re eating chocolate & popcorn / you’re waking up / between ugly cities / muddy paintings / heavy with geometry... Read More
A Senile Lucifer by Forrest Roth
I am spoken by having. I am kept by saying. I am laughing. A thing less by one witness, no longer keeping my company. Who has moved on far from without, without a cause to take with. I keep the thing. I wit the thingness, as in now, should one take offense to my laughing... Read More
Excerpts from Island by Tom Haviv
The rocks’ peaks push higher and higher, splaying water, producing more wake. / As the travelers empty out their sockets: a rain, a volley of eyes, vectorizing the white sky. / Islands burst into view, wherever an eye sinks. / Until nearly all of the travelers go blind...
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Two Texts from Apostasy by Katy Mongeau
I fell asleep with our innards like a long sentimental rope. The white pillar holding all of this up has a halo. You can be ruined but not empty. You can be a temple but not empty. You can be a ruin but not nothing, no... Read More
Camilo Roldán, Lital Khaikin & Jonathan Larson at Berl’s Brooklyn Poetry Shop
Sunday, September 11, 2016, 3 PM: Black Sun Lit and Berl’s Brooklyn Poetry Shop present Camilo Roldán, Lital Khaikin & Jonathan Larson... Read More
Paris by Laurie Stone
We did not communicate again. Now he is the age I was when we met, and I am the age Gardner was when he died. Sometimes it comes into my thoughts that I will die this year, too. There is something we feel we are supposed to give back, like feeding a body to the... Read More
Editors’ Note: Vestiges_02: Ennui
Free to be anywhere, boredom takes the writer everywhere. Free from apprehension, the writer is no longer pushed to panic by boredom, fumbling to alleviate it. What, then, does one do with this liberty? One not simply does but remembers, and detrimentally... Read More
Vestiges_02: Ennui Launch at Unnameable Books
Thursday, August 11, 2016, 7 PM: Please join Black Sun as we celebrate the launch of Vestiges_02: Ennui with an evening of readings from Donald Breckenridge, Ian Dreiblatt, Laurie Stone, Matthew Jakubowski, Haley Hemenway Sledge & Erin Fleming... Read More
Four Poems by Ashley David
Difficult to locate, my heart bleeds / while they feed at my breasts. Slice / my tongue twice with a sword. Horses / are hungry, the serpent and moon waning, / volcanic sun socks a line to bread and iron. / Water virgin and a cow with one arm feel / a heart that does... Read More