All Stories

Everything we've published, newest first.

A Valentine’s dispatch from the pit: heartbreak playlists, actual rectal probing, the smiley of doom, and why, oooh, crap hurts.

‘It’s like a heart beating, moving inside. The cage is made of a hundred parts and it weighs less than a gram.’ The Reverso turns eighty.

Pilgrims once followed the Milky Way to Santiago. A hundred thousand a year still come, by foot, bike, bus and one donkey, now guided by GPS.

Three minutes as Ian Brown, then back to being you. Nights in the karaoke rooms of Malate, where no one ever gets over anybody.

Poets mandate their own immortality. A protege remembers Ophelia Alcantara Dimalanta, UST’s Lady Polyester, over Leonard Cohen and beer.

A commencement address for the doomed: writer’s block, Eva Longoria as a sign of the apocalypse, and one ordinary Monday that broke a heart.

A last drink at Penguin Cafe in Malate: Noli Aurillo plucking, a Rolling Stones epitaph, and thanks for all the fish crackers.

An AB Lit student who snuck out of class returns to the dark: art films, a lost girl named Joy, and a professor finally answered.

Nora Aunor carries her cross of water containers to Vienna: a Lino Brocka retrospective at the Künstlerhaus, unexpected and overdue.

Autumn in Vienna for the Viennale: Lars von Trier’s Antichrist, Tilda Swinton retrospectives, and Nora Aunor on screen in Lino Brocka’s Bona.

A bratwurst stand at one in the morning, a drunken geezer serenading me in German, and the question of what could be scarier than history.

The Manuel Ocampo conversation concludes: anarchy in the R.P., institutional critique, and hell according to Seinfeld’s Elaine.