ISSUE 001: POTENTIAL ENERGY
full issue release coming soon

Home
     Blue Manifesto

Currents Brice AfonsoWorks in ProgressNibha AkireddyPlaying for DaysJon BennettRoman Candle  Oliver Beatty001: Potential Energy
Playlist
Hayden Carr-Loize and Pheobe Lippe
Cascade, Tooth, Circular Panel  
Sarah Chess
Expectations
Madeline Haze Curtis
Transmission I: spit with sonic weather
Claire Dauge-Roth
Try to Run
Clay Davis
Planning Time Off
Clay Davis
PoemSam ErteltUntitledUgo FerroUntitled, UntitledVitya FitsnerThe Drunken WalkRobert Pogue HarrisonDead Friend Haunts Man with Mismatched Flip-Flops R. W. Haynes'On ne part pas' disait Rimbaud, FUWA, Journal
Marie Hazard
NorCal Wave (Series)
Eva Hoffman
Carlos y Pablo, agua y espuma, and other paintingsMaría Fragoso Jara
The Ballad of Jeff Bezos 
Margot Kaiser
And the Days Are
Not Full Enough

Lulu Lebowitz
The Many Lives of Energy
Anna-Sofia Lesiv
Douma, Schizein
Chrstipher Lyr
Pristine
Douglas Milliken
Tu es d'une sucrerie diabolique
Mona Neilson
Process of Sculpting Dream, Block-In of a Young ManKaelin PalcuOn the Street, In the Arena
Jonah Pruitt
Letter to You as a Tallgrass Meridian
Maxwell Putnam
Pandæmonium
Matthew Schultz
Spin, Measure, Cut
Molly Pepper Steemson
Untitled, Untitled
Oliver Stokes-Curtis
L'AppesaLorraine de ThibaultDiálogos IBruna VettoriAnonymized LetterxDirt Poem
Rachel Wolfe
Metanoia Arina ZhuravlevaUntitled #11 Arina Zhuravleva





Prove That You Can't Stay Crumpled on the Bathroom Floor Forever

by Sam Ertelt
    Prove that you can’t stay crumpled on the bathroom floor forever.

Example:

Assume the vinyl stinks of lemon and salt. Assume that it is cold like
a metal pole in winter, wrenching your tongue from its base. Assume that
once I placed my ear against it long enough, I was be able to hear the sea.
No, not the sea. The rumble of a tectonic plate shifting. No. The
scheming of my insides to reclaim everything I have ever given up.
Assume all of this — then forget.

                                                                                                   Breathe out.

Assume I am lying on the bathroom floor. 

Bathroom floor                     = a sheet of ice that has quieted my hot skin
                                              = not having to look at the mirror again.
                                              = vinyl that stinks of lemon and salt
                                              = rougher on my face than my feet ever knew
                                              = easyish to press my hands against
                                              = pushing back against my bruised shins
                                              = getting farther and farther away

Bathroom floor                    = slick like guilt and soap underfoot
                                            = reblossomed bruises on the knee that crashes back down

This isn’t working. Let’s start again. 

Prove that you can’t stay crumpled on the bathroom floor forever.

Assume I am standing. 
Soon I should be able to convince myself

I always was.