About cosmonautsavenue

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So far cosmonautsavenue has created 809 blog entries.
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 | Poetry2018-11-26T17:56:38+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 | Nonfiction2018-11-20T01:55:23+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 | Nonfiction2018-11-03T01:14:19+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 | Nonfiction2018-11-03T01:46:56+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 | Nonfiction2018-11-03T01:47:06+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 | Poetry2018-11-03T01:17:53+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 | Poetry2018-11-26T17:24:48+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 | Nonfiction2018-11-03T01:19:35+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 | Nonfiction2018-11-03T01:23:08+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-Castillo2018-11-03T01:23:33+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 | Nonfiction2018-11-03T01:23:48+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 | Nonfiction2018-11-03T01:25:19+00:00
30 07, 2018

Tamzin Mitchell | Nonfiction


Sharks do not sleep as mammals do. Many shark species must keep moving in slumber, bodies restless even if minds are calm, to push oxygenated water past their gills. They are drifters. They, too, are restless at night.

Tamzin Mitchell | Nonfiction2018-11-03T01:25:32+00:00
30 07, 2018

Natalie E. Illum | Poetry


“if her allergens would keep to themselves./God forbid you have to be mindful/of dairy or cross contamination./...God forbid you ever worry/about the size and symbols/of a bathroom stall.”

Natalie E. Illum | Poetry2018-11-26T18:17:05+00:00
30 07, 2018

Maitreyi Ray | Poetry


“Slender girl with thick black plaits hides her teeth/from me when she smiles. her friendship is bravery./my body is violence.”

Maitreyi Ray | Poetry2018-11-26T18:17:23+00:00
30 07, 2018

Karen An-Hwei Lee | Poetry


“4. “Drink a daily glass of kombucha instead of sweet tea, blue algae, or cola.”/5. “Is kombucha similar to zero-calorie water or rambutan agua fresca?”/6. “You look so young. Do you drink a lot of kombucha or is it the melanin?”’

Karen An-Hwei Lee | Poetry2018-12-10T19:27:01+00:00
30 07, 2018

Colette Arrand | Poetry


“When cis men say they worry/about dying in the floodwaters of a former/sheet of ice, I think it must be nice, the privilege/that allows a cis man to worry about drowning…”

Colette Arrand | Poetry2018-11-26T18:19:09+00:00
30 07, 2018

Ashley Wren Collins | Fiction


Okay, so maybe it’s not from Finian’s Rainbow, but it’s always some obscure gem from the glory days of Broadway musicals and if not that, then the opposite – The Beatles or maybe even Mick in the Rolling Stones.

Ashley Wren Collins | Fiction2018-11-03T01:27:12+00:00
30 07, 2018

Lily Wang | Fiction


My mother had spent summer bent over her miniature vegetable garden. She planted tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, and beans. There was always a bowl of tomatoes on the dining room table; the rabbits ate everything else.

Lily Wang | Fiction2018-11-03T01:27:20+00:00
30 07, 2018

Maria Saba | Fiction


“Let me give her a kiss then,” my mother said. My heart sank; they don’t miss me, I thought. She lowered the blanket, caressed my hair, and hugged me gently. The sweet scent of forsythia from her hair filled my head. I yearned to clasp my arms around her, but she hadn’t insisted on taking me home because their ‘friends’ mattered more.

Maria Saba | Fiction2018-11-03T01:27:26+00:00
30 06, 2018

Teo Mungaray | Poetry


“funny how death isn’t much on the mind isn’t much a real thing isn’t much a/ concern until your body is a galactic crucible is a pillar of creation for the death-makers”

Teo Mungaray | Poetry2018-11-03T01:27:42+00:00
30 06, 2018

Sagirah Shahid | Poetry


“Yesterday, I spent hours stroking the glean off my phone/until it erased every dead thing, until the dead were entwined/into its body.”

Sagirah Shahid | Poetry2018-11-26T17:41:27+00:00
29 06, 2018

Rainie Oet | Nonfiction


I just re-remembered: Mama told me and Mark not to say “cancer” in this house, everyone was keeping it secret from Baba Galya that she was going to die. Deda Vitya says, “Lina told me, after Galya died, that Galya told her she went to the doctor on her own and asked him how much time she had. Galya put cards under her clothes, and later I found them: ‘These are for Lina, these are for…’ So Galya knew, and kept it a secret from all of us…”

Rainie Oet | Nonfiction2018-11-03T01:28:53+00:00
29 06, 2018

Emma Wang | Nonfiction


Over the course of my eighth-grade year, my exceptional hearing paid off, earning me a couple of eavesdropping sessions between mom and dad. They argued with low voices in the morning, careful not to wake me.

Emma Wang | Nonfiction2018-11-03T01:29:03+00:00
29 06, 2018

Rhiannon Richardson | Fiction


It felt good though. I’d chill and fuck with Maurice on weekends. During the week, I could walk up and down the hall in school with Tyrell’s arm around my waist. He and I fooled around after school, before my mom came home from work. I had to make sure I was keeping him satisfied so he wouldn’t get suspicious or start asking questions.

Rhiannon Richardson | Fiction2018-11-03T01:29:13+00:00
29 06, 2018

Rebekah Bergman | Fiction


And here—she’s just caught her husband putting on Rogaine. So, she thinks, she will not have to say it after all. She’s staring at him in the mirror, imagining the future of his baldness like a sunrise.She sees herself there also, her own hair, as it ages, becoming hopefully silver but probably gray.

Rebekah Bergman | Fiction2018-11-03T01:38:49+00:00
29 06, 2018

Max Jack-Monroe | Fiction


I chose Madeleine as a tribute to the city that I’ve called home for the past four years. Yes, as in the orphan pelirrojita in the old house covered with vines. And yes, as in one of those little French cakes that kind of look like duckbills.

Max Jack-Monroe | Fiction2018-11-03T01:38:39+00:00
29 06, 2018

Jackson Frons | Fiction


My dad lives in London, where he works for a TV company. He manages all of their reality shows. Big Brother Norway, Survivor Sweden, Amazing Race Belgium, you get it.

Jackson Frons | Fiction2018-11-03T01:38:12+00:00
29 06, 2018

Amanda Oosthuizen | Fiction


I find the white-eyed bird with the red beak halfway up a column of rock, and although he is dazed by the gathering heat of the day, I manage to coax him into the cage without difficulty. He is around a metre in height. He has grown since we last met and takes up most of the cage. I would like to feed him but I haven’t seen any mice for a while.

Amanda Oosthuizen | Fiction2018-11-24T14:19:40+00:00
1 06, 2018

Erin Kirsh | Fiction


I search for a good sleeping posture as night edges closer to business hours. I lay on my side, then on my stomach. I hang an arm off the bed. I flip the pillow to the cool side and back. I think about Adrienne, how soft the blankets on her bed are. I try and try, but I can’t get comfortable.

Erin Kirsh | Fiction2018-11-03T01:37:44+00:00