This piece is apart of 12th Street Journal‘s series, “Crisis Expressive,”which focuses on why and how we, as humans, creatively express during personal and public moments of crisis. If you have a story to express, we would be exulted to read […]
Themes
Finding Beckett
12th Street Journal’s Editor-In-Chief, Daniel Gee Husson, closes his eyes and sits down to a dreamy and eccentric conversation with the ghost of the avant-garde playwright, Samuel Beckett. It was winter in my junior […]
Two Days in November
November 4th “Hey, mister! We got cupcakes!” I looked down at a little girl with pink and green barrettes smiling at me. It was Election Day, and the school where I was voting was having […]
Kenan Trebincevic: A Voice From Genocide
Last summer, 33-year-old, Astoria-based physical therapist, Kenan Trebincevic, presented his patient, New School professor Susan Shapiro, with three pages of his childhood memoir. Just one year later he would publish, with co-author Shapiro, The Bosnia List, […]
Who’s Your Audience? A Profile of Mel Ortiz
As part of our profile series on the Riggio: Writing and Democracy community, we asked 12th Street Journal’s reader, and writer, Mel Ortiz, who she searches for in an audience. For Ortiz the question is not […]
Byron On Byron: Interviews With Ghosts
12th Street’s fiction editor, Adane Byron, has a talk with Lord Byron, spinner of fictitious history. Sometime before 1819 Writer Lord Byron began work on his lengthy poem, Don Juan. It was an “epic satire,” […]
Who’s Your Audience? A Profile of Sharon Mesmer
As part of our profile series on the Riggio: Writing and Democracy community, 12th Street asked poet, essayist, fiction writer, FLARF poetry innovator, and New School professor Sharon Mesmer to meditate on the inquest, “Who is […]
New York Stories: Reel
Reel I asked you to take me somewhere, after I pulled you out of the middle of the movie, like in the movies when the girl asks the boy, so he takes her to the […]
New York Stories: astoria
astoria with limbs and sheets we build a fort. a maroon light licks our foreheads as we struggle to arrange our bodies inside; on the center of the mattress, in the middle of his bedroom, […]
In Memory of Will Gary: My Friend Will
“This isn’t him,” she said. She was the closest person to me, and the second person closest to the casket. Out of somber, unwilling obligation, several onlookers nodded agreement with the woman. They were right. […]