cosmonautsavenue

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So far cosmonautsavenue has created 859 blog entries.
17 03, 2018

Tiny Spills | Naomi Jackson

2018-11-20T01:52:02-04:00

Tabs open on your screen right now: Instagram, iTunes (WuTang Clan, 36 Chambers of Death), FB, Twitter, Weather, Alarm, YouTube, etc. If you had to brag about yourself: My [...]

Tiny Spills | Naomi Jackson2018-11-20T01:52:02-04:00
27 02, 2018

Suiyi Tang | Nonfiction

2018-12-29T16:10:35-04:00

i am the face of asian american racial justice, a mockery composed of: displacement and internal insistence on hegemonic modes of dominance, negation, and death familiar to the geopolitical histories of asia proper.

Suiyi Tang | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:10:35-04:00
27 02, 2018

Cornelia Barber | Nonfiction

2018-12-29T16:09:38-04:00

The news is full of apocalypse. The girls are full to the brim with confidence, lightening, fear. Facebook sends me into spirals of anger and anxiety.

Cornelia Barber | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:09:38-04:00
27 02, 2018

Rani Neutill | Fiction

2018-02-27T10:43:12-04:00

Sunil gazed at Buku as they lay on a small cot that looked like a hospital gurney. A thick, sturdy mattress held their light weight, resilient and resistant to their shape, never bending to the sentient beings that occupied it.

Rani Neutill | Fiction2018-02-27T10:43:12-04:00
27 02, 2018

Gwaze Tafadzwa | Fiction

2018-02-28T17:36:53-04:00

He didn’t take and the lady looked at me like time being of the essence was a foreign concept to me. I was carrying everything I owned, of course time is of the essence. If it’s not for me, it’s not for anyone.

Gwaze Tafadzwa | Fiction2018-02-28T17:36:53-04:00
27 02, 2018

Ursula Villarreal-Moura | Fiction

2018-02-28T17:36:15-04:00

He returns every evening at 6 p.m. and asks if she's found a job yet. She has a part-time job, but it isn’t enough. Her husband expects her to work in a respectable office and wear high heels every day. He has a fantasy of them meeting at a pub for happy hour, both of them exhausted and full of work drama. Their twin martinis escape valves, sour tonics. 

Ursula Villarreal-Moura | Fiction2018-02-28T17:36:15-04:00
27 02, 2018

Aram Mrjoian | Fiction

2018-02-28T17:35:37-04:00

Our fear, then, was that all the swag came with an expectation of high quality. We couldn’t rely on improvisation forever. So on that fourth day, Sanders cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled out to the crowd, “Does anyone have any screenwriting experience?”

Aram Mrjoian | Fiction2018-02-28T17:35:37-04:00
27 02, 2018

Chika Onyenezi | Fiction

2018-02-27T01:31:06-04:00

I had seen Arthur around for a while, at this particular station. Whenever I was coming back from work, at night, he stood there, smoking, and whistling through his trimmed moustache.

Chika Onyenezi | Fiction2018-02-27T01:31:06-04:00
27 02, 2018

jayy dodd | Poetry

2018-11-26T18:50:06-04:00

maybe it is time for me to write poems for You. The Somebody Else. / i need to find a way to eat what comes out of me. The Wonder

jayy dodd | Poetry2018-11-26T18:50:06-04:00
31 01, 2018

Tiny Spills | Zach Savich

2019-02-24T17:28:36-04:00

While spending too long thinking about what constitutes a lie to oneself, I burned the tahini honey yogurt cake I am baking. It may have improved it.


Tiny Spills | Zach Savich2019-02-24T17:28:36-04:00
18 01, 2018

Maia Morgan | Nonfiction

2018-12-29T16:11:10-04:00

I’m eleven or twelve, the oldest grandchild. I’ve lingered with the grownups. My mother asks me to clear. I stack two or three plates at a time, walk them into the kitchen. Then butter dish, bread basket, serving dishes, silver.

Maia Morgan | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:11:10-04:00
18 01, 2018

Jennifer Berney | Nonfiction

2018-12-29T16:10:58-04:00

I was nineteen when I first heard the artist Cat Power. A friend had put the song “Nude as the News” on a mix tape, and I listened to it over and over. Sometimes this meant I’d fast forward the tape until I found the song. Other times, I’d listen to the whole mix just to get there.

Jennifer Berney | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:10:58-04:00
18 01, 2018

Sarah Cook | Nonfiction

2018-12-29T16:07:25-04:00

As a young girl, I did really well in school. But at every parent-teacher conference, the same thing was always said, every year, from every single teacher, to my mother: she’s a good student but she doesn’t talk enough. Sometimes, more specifically: she needs to ask more questions.

Sarah Cook | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:07:25-04:00
18 01, 2018

Sarah Sgro | Nonfiction

2018-12-29T16:07:02-04:00

What’s your weirdest poop story? I ask K while we’re eating seven-layer dip, watching Lady Gaga swing from buildings at the Superbowl. When K was young she used to pick up every poop she made. She would study its consistency, roll the stool between her hands like clay, toss it back and flush.

Sarah Sgro | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:07:02-04:00
17 01, 2018

Marian Ryan | It Has Been 70 Years…

2018-01-22T12:12:24-04:00

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text] It Has Been 70 Years Since Eva Braun Was Incinerated Along with Her Underwear She takes the U-Bahn across town to visit him where he is cat-sitting for friends. [...]

Marian Ryan | It Has Been 70 Years…2018-01-22T12:12:24-04:00
17 01, 2018

Tim Raymond | The Leg

2018-01-22T12:11:43-04:00

I used my mom’s pink razor to shave my leg because I was too afraid to use Dad’s black one. I sat in the tub running warm water over my smooth calf. It was beautiful. That night, I rubbed my leg against my sheets until the pleasure of it was overwhelming.

Tim Raymond | The Leg2018-01-22T12:11:43-04:00
17 01, 2018

Ruth Gila Berger | Nonfiction

2018-12-29T15:48:29-04:00

It is February in Minneapolis, a month of frozen mud and sodden wings, except now oddly warm enough, it rains an iron rain. My wife, Christi drives. Her tires sluice. Exhausted windshield wipers perform accidental beauty; the patterns they leave fracture our light.

Ruth Gila Berger | Nonfiction2018-12-29T15:48:29-04:00
17 01, 2018

Marianna Nash | Many Oysters

2018-01-22T12:07:56-04:00

We walk past the old tenement where Anya’s great-aunt still lives, claiming the hole she tore in the world. Imagine if we all moved into Columbia Presbyterian! Someone probably has.

Marianna Nash | Many Oysters2018-01-22T12:07:56-04:00
17 01, 2018

Maddy Raskulinecz | Big Grins

2018-01-22T12:06:40-04:00

Jacob was trying to be alone with the alligator when his mother called him into the house for dinner. His mother didn’t know a thing about it; she didn’t even know the difference between an alligator and a crocodile.

Maddy Raskulinecz | Big Grins2018-01-22T12:06:40-04:00
17 01, 2018

Jessica Berger | Trophy

2018-01-22T12:03:29-04:00

He was my husband, but I called him dog. When he returned from the woods each passing dawn, from wherever it is that wild things go, he would whimper and scratch at the door.

Jessica Berger | Trophy2018-01-22T12:03:29-04:00
16 01, 2018

Ana Hurtado | Poetry

2018-12-27T01:44:07-04:00

His mother kept two cockatoos in her bedroom. They sometimes shat on her bed, nightstand, on framed pictures of Angelito’s grandfather.

Ana Hurtado | Poetry2018-12-27T01:44:07-04:00
28 12, 2017

Martina Carla Louis | Nonfiction

2018-12-04T20:35:06-04:00

Married now and fully Amerikèn, I could enjoy the freedom of having weekends all to myself. I no longer ran errands for my parent’s siblings; I no longer braced South Florida traffic on weekend trips to my family members’ homes.

Martina Carla Louis | Nonfiction2018-12-04T20:35:06-04:00
20 12, 2017

Tiny Spills | Naima Coster

2019-02-24T17:30:10-04:00

Last time you lied: A pair of friends came over around 9 am to drop off their keys so I could stop by and feed their cat while they were away. I was still in my pajamas.

Tiny Spills | Naima Coster2019-02-24T17:30:10-04:00
29 11, 2017

Alex DiFrancesco | Nonfiction

2018-12-29T13:13:00-04:00

It’s a delicate process, but easy once you get the hang of it. If it’s done wrong, things curdle. If you do it just right, simultaneously whisking and adding warm to cold, it comes out smooth and resilient to hot temperatures.

Alex DiFrancesco | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:13:00-04:00
29 11, 2017

Joseph Parker Okay | Nonfiction

2018-12-29T13:11:09-04:00

i got the next round and after that she invited me back to her place. when we got there we were met at the door by 2 barking doggos. one was hers, a dark brown/reddish wiener dog mix who really doesn’t like guys.

Joseph Parker Okay | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:11:09-04:00
29 11, 2017

Whit Arnold | Nonfiction

2018-12-29T13:11:50-04:00

On TV, we watched a Showtime series called Shameless. I’m easily bored by TV, so instead I looked around his apartment. On a shelf sat a colorful, glass hookah. Seeing it, I asked, “You smoke?”

Whit Arnold | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:11:50-04:00
29 11, 2017

Jayinee Basu | Swimming Pool

2017-11-29T22:31:31-04:00

Biriyani jumped off the diving board and broke the surface of the swimming pool in a clean arc. Pale pink fluff rippled over the pool. Her legs kicked a trillion tiny dark blue jewels into the air that melted back into water.

Jayinee Basu | Swimming Pool2017-11-29T22:31:31-04:00
29 11, 2017

Ana Crouch Ureña | Double Dare

2017-11-29T22:34:32-04:00

We should have known Eduardo would be the type to tattle. He was a hyperactive, annoying child with a tendency to boss us around, although at 8 he was younger than me by a year and had been held back in school.

Ana Crouch Ureña | Double Dare2017-11-29T22:34:32-04:00
29 11, 2017

Brianna Johnson | I Against I

2017-11-29T22:54:55-04:00

Her mom’s idea of good music was Kirk Franklin and Beyoncé. More than once Kenzi found her mother in the living room stumbling along as she tried to “get in formation” or convince Fat Dave to put a ring on it. She even had a shrine to the singer in her bedroom, photos taped along her dresser for “inspiration.”

Brianna Johnson | I Against I2017-11-29T22:54:55-04:00
29 11, 2017

Jason Phoebe Rusch | Poetry

2018-12-27T01:44:19-04:00

But of course I cannot be every / body for you, you cannot be every / body for me; souls are slippery like minnows, they have no fleshy handles, there is nothing to hold to pull your soul deeper inside

Jason Phoebe Rusch | Poetry2018-12-27T01:44:19-04:00
29 11, 2017

Lucie Bonvalet | Nonfiction

2018-12-29T13:12:16-04:00

But if I look at the etymology, I find the Greek, nemein, "give what is due" and that nemesis literally means "retribution". So why has it become intertwined in my memory with a forest of black mirrors?

Lucie Bonvalet | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:12:16-04:00
29 11, 2017

Alexandra Naughton | Poetry

2018-12-27T01:45:04-04:00

If I could be seen as a force instead of an object instead of a hobby, if I could just do without having to be seen, or if it didn’t matter to me at all, I could be invincible.

Alexandra Naughton | Poetry2018-12-27T01:45:04-04:00
29 11, 2017

Alan Chazaro | Poetry

2018-12-27T01:45:12-04:00

Is it because always running is a cliché? And clichés are a rerun of something different? And since you were a boy, did they feed you questionable

Alan Chazaro | Poetry2018-12-27T01:45:12-04:00
12 11, 2017

Tiny Spills | Jane Wong

2019-02-24T17:32:39-04:00

Best breakfast: Leftovers. There's nothing like warming up leftovers in a bowl and eating it in bed, a blanket around your shoulders. I pretty much eat everything out of a bowl, even pizza (the fold-technique helps).

Tiny Spills | Jane Wong2019-02-24T17:32:39-04:00
12 11, 2017

Tiny Spills | Lynn Melnick

2018-12-31T10:26:06-04:00

If you have a c-section, you might want to get yourself some high-waisted panties because the incision will be right where your usual panties sit and it hurts.

Tiny Spills | Lynn Melnick2018-12-31T10:26:06-04:00
31 10, 2017

Tiny Spills | Lynn Melnick

2017-10-31T10:17:42-04:00

Tabs open on your screen right now: 2 email accounts, VIDA’s website, twitter, an article on theGrio about strippers in NYC going on strike to protest the ongoing racism [...]

Tiny Spills | Lynn Melnick2017-10-31T10:17:42-04:00
30 10, 2017

Meghann Boltz | Poetry

2018-12-27T01:45:17-04:00

i went to see the wizard & asked him for a cock he must have seen by the scuffs on my knees that i really needed one because he said ok

Meghann Boltz | Poetry2018-12-27T01:45:17-04:00