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So far cosmonautsavenue has created 842 blog entries.
31 12, 2018

J. Mae Barizo | Fiction


Tacked beside Beuys was a picture of a chair designed by the Brazilian brothers Humberto and Fernando Campagna. The chair was made out of an enormous length of rope, wrapped and woven to create a nest-like structure.

J. Mae Barizo | Fiction2019-01-03T11:25:03+00:00
30 12, 2018

Amalie Kwassman | Poetry


still telling the same story in the hospital / about how grandma was choking and choking on that pill / but she got it down with just a little bit of applesauce

Amalie Kwassman | Poetry2019-01-03T11:24:45+00:00
30 12, 2018

Elsa Valmidiano | Nonfiction


I lost a baby two years ago, still thinking of that lost body in my body, its cells permanently shed into the lining of my stomach and lungs, while I sit in front of the Tbilisi Galleria sharing a strange concoction of beef, lamb, onions, parsley, and eggs rolled into a lumpia-like roll...

Elsa Valmidiano | Nonfiction2019-01-03T11:21:58+00:00
30 12, 2018

Rachelle Toarmino | Nonfiction


The text read: BUG, your Rx is due now. Reply REFILL to fill, HELP for more info, & STOP to opt out of Rx alerts. I did not reply. A woman behind the counter asked if she could help me, and I stepped forward to hand her the orange USPS delivery slip.

Rachelle Toarmino | Nonfiction2019-01-03T11:24:23+00:00
26 12, 2018

Reilly Cox | Nonfiction


Iris is a tortoiseshell cat. Because so much of my house is mismatched patterns, it is difficult to photograph her. In most she will exist as a blur, a momentary interruption of a couch or rug.

Reilly Cox | Nonfiction2019-01-05T17:50:54+00:00
26 12, 2018

Dana Curtis | Nonfiction


Most people would prefer not to have to look at, or be aware of at all, people with disabilities. But if they have to, they want to break into applause as someone manages to cross a room without falling down. They want to remain in a superior position, and most importantly, they want to believe that it's not that bad.

Dana Curtis | Nonfiction2019-01-05T17:51:01+00:00
26 12, 2018

Christine Lai | Nonfiction


Dwelling. To dwell. From the Old English word dwellan, which means “to lead astray, hinder, delay”. Later, the word became associated with the state of abiding, or continuing for a time, in a particular place, state or condition. A dwelling, then, is a space between two different states of being, a place of dallying, of pausing in thought.

Christine Lai | Nonfiction2019-01-05T17:52:06+00:00
26 12, 2018

Thomas Manuel | Fiction


We stayed silent for a moment. Him standing, eyes solemnly downcast, me squatting, looking up. He told me he trusted me with this knowledge because I was the right kind of Christian. When I asked what he meant, he looked me in the eye and said, the kind who believes.

Thomas Manuel | Fiction2019-01-05T17:52:01+00:00
26 12, 2018

Shannon McLeod | Fiction


Years later, a mutual friend will call her a liar, saying she’d lied about her age, she even lied about her hair. I’d heard her accept dozens of compliments on her curls without ever mentioning a perm, so I consider this to be another deceit.

Shannon McLeod | Fiction2018-12-30T12:49:53+00:00
26 12, 2018

Monica Villavicencio | Fiction


She appeared in the kitchen doorway in her mother’s yellow-and-white dress, tan slingback sandals, and unevenly applied fire-engine red lipstick. She looked like a girl in costume, playacting. The sight of her pinched Mara’s heart.

Monica Villavicencio | Fiction2018-12-30T12:47:55+00:00
26 12, 2018

Maria Barrios | Fiction


Daniel, a guy I barely knew from university, said that I should stay in a local house so I could experience the "real" Colombia. I told him I was from Barranquilla.

Maria Barrios | Fiction2018-12-30T14:10:07+00:00
26 12, 2018

Kyle Dillon Hertz | Fiction


I thought that after I turned the age he was when he died that I would feel some monumental weight of time, like each second would be a reminder. That didn’t happen. The initial depression came and went and then days passed slowly while years passed quickly and now we are here.

Kyle Dillon Hertz | Fiction2018-12-30T12:44:13+00:00
26 12, 2018

Kasia van Schaik | Fiction


He lived in Denmark for a while, but returned to the Grunewald forest for the last years of his life. From his room in the sanatorium, he painted several depictions of the lake. One of these hangs in the Stadtmuseum in Berlin.

Kasia van Schaik | Fiction2018-12-30T12:41:51+00:00
26 12, 2018

Dolan Morgan | Fiction


“I don’t understand,” my dad said, face in his hands, as three guards swapped out Aaron’s empty crib and dresser, and all of the clothes and toys still in their gift bags, for Jerry, a middle-aged man serving a ten year sentence, officially our new roommate.

Dolan Morgan | Fiction2018-12-30T12:41:55+00:00
31 10, 2018

George Abraham | Poetry


i want to write about the blueberries i picked from the throat of a New England fall afternoon; how my hands plucked each branch like a familiar melody.

George Abraham | Poetry2018-12-29T00:52:27+00:00
31 10, 2018

Aarti Monteiro | Fiction


They sat at the dining table to eat, and she was glad for the conversation. It was as though no time had passed. Nilim looked older and more mature, and yet he was exactly the same as she remembered. The power went out with a crack as they finished dinner, and darkness flooded the apartment.

Aarti Monteiro | Fiction2018-11-03T01:44:48+00:00
31 10, 2018

Alice Maglio | Fiction


She hates the locker-room shower stalls at the YMCA with the curtain that only covers most of you. She hates that someone could stand in just the right place and peek in. Like those ladies who walk around naked. Maybe they want her to be naked, too.

Alice Maglio | Fiction2018-11-03T19:55:12+00:00
31 10, 2018

Christopher Gonzalez | Fiction


In silence Xiomara removes the knife from his grip then grabs the can of whole coffee beans off the counter. She takes from it a handful, letting the beans roll from her palm onto a cutting board, and Marcos watches them like marbles circling each other, unsure if they are following or trying to outrun one another.

Christopher Gonzalez | Fiction2018-11-03T01:46:07+00:00
31 10, 2018

Karolina Letunova | Fiction


When YouTube University voted her channel down, the message was clear. No one cared anymore about Esthetics of Architecture. The comments popped faster than she could read them: “higher-world problems,” “elitist hack,” “come down and we’ll show you the real world.” Those were the mildest.

Karolina Letunova | Fiction2018-11-20T01:57:44+00:00
31 10, 2018

Ana Maria Jomolca | Nonfiction


But I am tired, he has exhausted me and I understand now how parents just give in and buy their kids bad ideas and feed them sugar and let strangers watch them while mommy ducks into the local pub at high noon for a quick shot of numb. And it’s in the sale bin for $5.88.

Ana Maria Jomolca | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:32:29+00:00
31 10, 2018

Anne Rasmussen | Nonfiction


Correct him, even when he yells at you. He’s always been absent-minded, but this is different. Stand your ground when he denies it. It really happened. You were there. He was there, just last week. Last Monday, to be exact. Show him where you wrote it on the calendar.

Anne Rasmussen | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:32:15+00:00
31 10, 2018

Johanna Dong | Nonfiction


The only people who speak about the parts of history I’m interested in are drunk older cousins at parties. Unfortunately, they also happen to be the least reliable narrators, on account of their drunkenness, as well as their fondness for exaggeration.

Johanna Dong | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:31:44+00:00
31 10, 2018

Yvonne Conza | Nonfiction


Within the spectrum of chaos and abuse, others have dealt with far worse than me. Anyone that has taken in feral kittens knows that some adapt and others don’t. Sometimes claw marks on the arms of loved ones are the cost of sheltering a wild thing.

Yvonne Conza | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:31:08+00:00
29 10, 2018

Kwame Opoku-Duku | Poetry


brother i was in a dream state/ Jesus was there/ & Gil Scott-Heron/ & the only sound/ the whirr of the ceiling fan/ brother/ the night we took

Kwame Opoku-Duku | Poetry2018-11-26T18:02:02+00:00
3 10, 2018

Mark L. Keats | Fiction


Some of the vendors stood and smoked, some joked with one another, their laughter slowly dissipating in the night; others sat; still, a few looked as if they had fallen asleep. It was late, a little past 10:30pm. An older woman with tired eyes and a lot of makeup waved to him, offered him a pamphlet with words he couldn’t quite understand. She moved onto to another person, handed out another pamphlet. He read the Korean below: “Jesus Christ saves.”

Mark L. Keats | Fiction2018-11-03T01:17:08+00:00
3 10, 2018

Vonetta Young | Fiction


He was cute, but I liked his ambition more. He wanted to create his own tech start-up; he was just trying to figure out which problem he wanted to solve first, he said. He’d traveled throughout Europe on vacations with his family growing up. My mom and I had never been on vacation ever, except to go see Mee-Maw in New York when her health started failing. When I studied abroad, I was the first person in my family to travel outside of the country.

Vonetta Young | Fiction2018-11-03T01:17:16+00:00
2 10, 2018

Melissa Cundieff | Fiction


The dog that bit me was a stray scavenging on the street; I was eight years old. After letting go of my mother’s hand to embrace the dog around its neck, I only remember a few details.

Melissa Cundieff | Fiction2018-11-03T01:17:27+00:00
2 10, 2018

Robin Richardson | Poetry


“You mistook his peace for shyness mistook the blue for pools the eyes for danger because all the other eyes of all the other boys hid hostage narratives”

Robin Richardson | Poetry2018-12-26T21:13:44+00:00
2 10, 2018

Rita Mookerjee | Poetry


“I was nobody’s angel in the centerfold/too ballet scrawny to have any curves/too darkskinned to light up a room/too short to tower over my haters”

Rita Mookerjee | Poetry2018-11-26T17:24:33+00:00
2 10, 2018

Penelope Romo | Poetry


“because i had to, because/there is no room in the anglo o rthography /for an accented o, an ó/who is a mother with an umbilical cord/hanging out loose”

Penelope Romo | Poetry2018-12-26T21:26:04+00:00
2 10, 2018

Hannah Cohen | Poetry


“my children will begin to understand sometimes Dads are not your real Dads maybe their real Dad is still wandering no change of clothes no cash no comb”

Hannah Cohen | Poetry2018-11-26T17:25:29+00:00
2 10, 2018

Catch Business | Poetry


“i can imagine you imagining me doing that with you like i was imagining in that moment / you never really know what the other person is thinking but i thought if we were off the clock i would try to find a way to kiss you”

Catch Business | Poetry2018-12-10T19:24:28+00:00
2 10, 2018

Alison Kronstadt | Poetry


“& what should I have grown up to be? She tried. Parted our hair to the side. Let two boys throw love at her one stuck she thought it was a miracle.”

Alison Kronstadt | Poetry2018-11-26T17:26:29+00:00
2 10, 2018

Cklara Moradian | Nonfiction


I passed by dried limes, herbs, fresh cheese, honey combs, lentils, henna and walnuts. I stopped to ask for a sample of red plum paste that tasted so sour all the muscles in my face twisted up. The vendors laughed at me kindly. I wanted to disappear into everything. I wanted to run away.

Cklara Moradian | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:29:53+00:00
2 10, 2018

Ashley Lopez | Fiction


When the doors of the Downtown A slide open, college couples exit—ping pong balls of intoxication bouncing into the night. You squeeze into the only vacant seat next to a man with his knees pressed together, oxforded feet crossed. He resides in the middle of a three-seat bench. His navy-slacked thighs press you into the partition.

Ashley Lopez | Fiction2018-11-03T01:19:47+00:00
2 10, 2018

Christopher James | Fiction


This is my new gf. She doesn’t like where I live. Is it because of the fairy lights? I ask. She doesn’t say, she never says much, but she likes it more if we stay at her place, which is miles away. We go there after work sometimes, past a field with horses on the way. ‘Horses,’ I say.

Christopher James | Fiction2018-11-03T01:20:11+00:00
2 10, 2018

Devan Collins Del Conte | Fiction


Emmy can see the interstate and the flashing colored lights of the Gold Club, the shadow of the bouncer by the entrance and the boisterous groups of men filing in with pockets full of singles. On the other side of the highway, a back street dead-ends into a Baptist church. The scent of the drive-in doesn’t reach this high. Instead it smells like rain and gas fumes from the traffic roaring by, looping the city, their taillights melting into a red-yellow stream.

Devan Collins Del Conte | Fiction2018-11-03T01:20:27+00:00
2 10, 2018

Emma Cohen | Fiction


I haven’t prayed in years, since high school when I prayed for a date to prom. When I used to pray I could feel a presence hanging above me, a great translucent presence high above, gooey, like a puddle of jello. I decide to try it out again.

Emma Cohen | Fiction2018-11-03T01:20:33+00:00
2 10, 2018

Jennifer Dickinson | Fiction


If only he could be Jonas Delvecchio, who lived in a real house just three bus stops away. Jonas had been adopted as an infant by an Italian couple who drove Porsches and took him skiing in Madrid every year. Because of his parents, Jonas knew things the other kids didn’t. Saline swimming pools didn’t dry out your skin as much as chlorine. The most comfortable pillows were made of down. Purebred poodles were better behaved than purebred Chihuahuas.

Jennifer Dickinson | Fiction2018-11-03T01:20:41+00:00
29 08, 2018

Allyson Young | Poetry


“According to National Geographic, scientists have now developed the technology by which to grow tiny human hearts on spinach leaves.”

Allyson Young | Poetry2018-11-26T17:27:09+00:00
29 08, 2018

Ellena Savage | Nonfiction


after a while you won't be able to turn on the wim wenders film paris texas just because it is streaming on demand and it is friday evening and you are living alone because he who has bale coloured hair and sensitive skin is interstate for the time being working for the man you won't be able to simply watch movies that too heavily dramatise male loneliness

Ellena Savage | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:29:26+00:00
29 08, 2018

Interview | Shylah Hamilton and Vreni Michelini-Castillo


Under oak trees, on a table surrounded by two small bouquets of chamomile, I watched Shylah Hamilton, a filmmaker and fiction writer, and rapper Vreni Michelini-Castillo perform a ceremony designed to facilitate creativity and self-reflection. I listened to their thoughts on creativity, racism, and colonization--how these topics affect marginalized artists--and wondered why my life isn’t right.

Interview | Shylah Hamilton and Vreni Michelini-Castillo2018-12-29T16:28:52+00:00
29 08, 2018

Annette Covrigaru | Nonfiction


We’ve been touring Israel, my mom and I, for almost two weeks now and until this point everything’s been agreeable. The crusader fortress in Akko, the Bahá’í Gardens in Haifa, the visit to Kibbutz El Rom, the winery in the Golan Heights (which I skipped, more of a beer person). Even St. Peters Church had weakened me.

Annette Covrigaru | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:28:10+00:00
29 08, 2018

Michele Lombardo | Fiction


T. rex roared, eyes flicking about in short, rapid movements consistent with a predator possessing heightened sensory abilities. It paused before us, head hovering fifteen feet above. It screamed, teeth long like fingers. Cassidy and I reflexively cowered, then laughed.

Michele Lombardo | Fiction2018-11-03T01:24:03+00:00
29 08, 2018

Jasmine Sealy | Fiction


That night, Jezebel dreams that she forgot her purse on the bus. She chases the bus on foot from stop to stop, always a few feet behind, until it disappears around a bend. She wakes up aching. She feels like she has shed a layer of skin. She turns to David in half-sleep and when she speaks her voice cracks in the dark like static on wool. David pulls her closer to his chest. She says, “I’m always dreaming of losing things. I leave bits of myself behind wherever I go.”

Jasmine Sealy | Fiction2018-11-03T01:24:13+00:00
29 08, 2018

Chris Lorraine | Fiction


I see life lines and love lines like I’ve never seen them before. As I look, I know what they say. Suddenly I know how to read, like my daughter. This knowledge is no longer inaccessible to me.

Chris Lorraine | Fiction2018-11-03T01:24:20+00:00
29 08, 2018

Alex Behr | Fiction


he had made a pass at her on a rooftop that went horribly wrong because he thought she would think it was sexy if he put a cigarette out on his wrist like Darby Crash’s sycophantic girl fans, but it hurt like hell and she laughed at him and went into the bathroom to do some crank

Alex Behr | Fiction2018-11-03T01:24:29+00:00
28 08, 2018

Randall Jong | Fiction


These joys should be enough evidence to prove, yes, he is happy. But why does this question keep appearing and spreading like pests? When Joe wakes up, three hours later, he discovers that he has just experienced a terrible dream that he cannot remember. Is it about Allison—no. Is it about The Store—no. Is it about doing something else other than grocery; is it about being someone completely different—maybe?

Randall Jong | Fiction2018-11-03T01:24:37+00:00
28 08, 2018

Ariel Saramandi | Fiction


Elise shook her head in reply. ‘You know, maybe I was a coward before. But now,’ she smiled, knowing how irritating her next phrase would be, and pleased she had come up with it, ‘but now I feel like my feelings have been cut away.’

Ariel Saramandi | Fiction2018-11-03T01:24:44+00:00
30 07, 2018

Jenny Bitner | Fiction


And that was when he introduced me to the concept of child sharing, an idea that he had evidently been rolling around in his head since he was in high school. He had the idea that we could find other people who wanted to have a share in our child—people we liked, who didn’t want their own baby.

Jenny Bitner | Fiction2018-11-03T01:24:55+00:00
30 07, 2018

Jessica Malordy | Fiction


On the afternoon that the king’s herald arrived the goosegirls were not minding their geese. They were at the stream, barefoot and barelegged, the hems of their shifts knotted and clutched in their fists as they waded through the water. They made their way to the boulders at the center of the stream. Their hair, long and dark, hung free.

Jessica Malordy | Fiction2018-11-03T01:25:03+00:00
30 07, 2018

Kevin Joffré | Fiction


Kathy Bates wasn’t actually the actress Kathy Bates, but a corpulent queen who was also in the bar performing right after Kelsi. She was feral. Her makeup was bright red and white, applied liked war paint. I could hear her screeching from backstage.

Kevin Joffré | Fiction2018-11-03T01:25:08+00:00
30 07, 2018

Allen M. Price | Nonfiction


For many, the sun-sparkling Atlantic, the clean-as-seashell beaches, and the freshly-caught seafood of Provincetown are a vacation paradise. For gays, it’s a liberating mecca where kissing, hand-holding, and public displays of affection are smiled upon.

Allen M. Price | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:27:07+00:00