holy land of jeans


“I am the vine; you are the branches.”—John 15:5


The Artisan wakes up one morning to find themselves one of America’s most respected people.

With rare exception, labor porn is in vogue, the myth of the scrappy, soot-covered, American worker alive and well, hands callused and brow furrowed, when in fact unions are under constant assault, the most corrupt and hostile administration in history, a bunch of grifters, workers’ rights be damned. Continue Reading

Corona Diaries: Does my sweat make flowers bloom?

by Gloria Stay

I’m quite a lady, or as my friend Uhlàlà would say: a chochotte. I remember asking her what it meant and what I could gather from her explanation was that it’s a term used to bring endearing ridicule to someone who is sophisticated but in a slightly strenuous way, someone who is particular about things and also a bit boujee and extra at times in quite an interesting or maybe even intriguing manner. Uhlàlà said, it’s especially funny calling me a ‘chochotte’ because people wouldn’t necessarily expect me to be one. I’m not really sure what she wanted to insinuate at the time. Continue Reading

Circumstances Concerning My Preference for the Sister and Other Selected Pieces

by Rich Ives
Image: Kaitlin Ruether

Blomfild’s Beauty Butterfly

Yes, I have parked cars for Natalka in Bratislava. In the dry season we all roosted in the high mountains. Paval, who is Ivo’s brother and a little slow, watches me. You can tell the locals from the foreigners by the way the foreigners perch head down on tree trunks and the frequent gathering of moisture from the sap, mud and rotting fruits. We ignore the flowers. Sometimes the locals are entertained by the nighthawks diving for fireflies. Sometimes they bet upon their fate and amass great fortunes. Continue Reading

Corona Diaries

by Anne Isakowitsch

The boy is four years old. He enjoys nothing more than being at home. Since he no longer goes to kindergarten, his nightmares have stopped. He has fewer tantrums and seems…happier. At daycare he suffers from the toxic masculinity of his peers: who is stronger, who can jump further, who wins, who is the best, the best, the best. Continue Reading

Corona Diaries: Pandemic Poetics / Fuck This

by Ola Kamińska


Week four of staying inside: I exchange flowers with my friend Ania. She borrowed our car yesterday and I was able to finally make my childhood dream come true, giving her the keys by slowly lowering them on a very thin rope. I must have read that in one of Astrid Lindgren’s Bullerbyn stories or some other book from primary school: kids exchanging gifts in a basket traveling between windows on a ribbon. Today, she brings the keys back. I don’t want to lower an empty rope, so I tie a small yellow flower to it. It’s windy and I live on the second floor. The keys come back after a minute, with a red tulip attached, almost as if we had agreed to this exchange earlier. Continue Reading

Corona Diaries

by Ricky Clark

I stood on the corner of Charlottenstraße wearing a white hoody and bright yellow washing-up gloves, handing out postcards that read something along the lines of:

Your favourite vegan café is still open! You will not go hungry with us! (psst – Please come. We’re desperate to keep our jobs so bring your friends. You can’t sit inside. No. Or use the loo either but please come. Your cash is not welcome. Please bring a card.) Continue Reading