Read and view the work of artists from Previous Issues.
“Well, spandex is not so much a fabric as a lifestyle. You don’t need spandex to go biking; you need spandex to fulfill a posture. And what is this posture, you ask? This is the posture of the well brought-up, well-adjusted, middle class, which says ‘well’ when you ask them how they are, and scorns anyone who says, ‘I’m good’. It’s the posture of the braindead…”
I’ve decided something: My friends are weird. Who does something like that at a bar? I always thought after you had a kid, you would be extra proper. No joking. No laughing. No, doing crazy stuff like crawling under a table to get away from being squished into a corner by your two friends. Or, for that matter—standing on a booth seat flapping your arms trying to get a person’s attention.
Dressing a rock and roll chick for burial meant selecting ebony boots, slim black jeans, a silvery button down blouse, and a green beaded bracelet. I hoped she would approve of my fashion choices. I also hoped she would forgive me for not returning to the apartment and taking more of her personal possessions. She was not ready to part with them, as she was not ready to leave this life.
