There are few writers who are as infamously cruel to their characters as Franz Kafka.

Two bleak and philosophical films centering around mysterious animals provide us with a prism through which to view our own human world.

Carolina Alamilla attends the exhibition and finds in its works an examination of space, gender, body, and time.

"It wasn’t what you lost / That broke you." A poem by Julia Ferreira.

Sasho Pshenko explores Spencer and how its depiction of Princess Diana bears a striking resemblance to the Kafkaesque world.

Ben Gibbons sits down with INEZ to discuss her art, the city, and everything in between.

Joe Mruk invites you into a house built of an everlasting love for music and its power to heal, inspire, and move the soul. Step inside.

"How odd it is / that we don't bury / the people we used to be." A poem by Rowan Gladish.

Elliot Jordan revisits the Hannibal Lecter series and argues for it as not only great literature but the ultimate modern fairytale.

Two poems by Brett Sullivan Santry.

Valdimar Jóhannsson’s debut thriller Lamb (2021) has been hailed by critics for its bleak cinematography and strange, dreadful suspense.

Carolina Alamilla explores how BUFF’s mixed-media collaboration adds to—as well as emphasizes—the beauty of blemished city surfaces.

Lily Ekimian speaks with Carolina Alamilla, the curator behind Third Floor Window, about how she utilizes her apartment window to share art.

Sasho Pshenko revisits The Master and Margarita and finds in it a guide, of sorts, to an unexpected form of resistance: passivity.

Kesley Swintek lays flat the opposing poles that Lorde balances in herself and her music.

Ana Lily Amirpour’s A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night is a revelry of cinematic styles and innovation.

Musician Andrew Muse is something of an enigma, with a style and repertoire both difficult to define and difficult to find, respectively.

"Words spring up / Like neon spikes / From fallow fields / Of endless rows that / Speak unheard." A poem by Lyde Longaker.

"I’m gathering days— Paper slowly turning autumnal." A poem by Bekah Black.

I was, / when I knew / I was a mote, / an aimless speck swirling, / between shadows / made by slatted blinds." A poem by Lyde Longaker.