Hothouse
Literary Journal
Author: hothouselitjournal
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Cain Yin you say i’ll give you anything baby, just please don’t leave me, please don’t go but you’re lying- we both are– about how the dragon leaves the story unsought for, about how long he can go on pulling out teeth. i’m not so good at playing the dragon, but just this once, i’ll…
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By Molly Tompkins I remember nothing of my sixteenth birthday, save the arduous task of making a memory. Everyone wore white and denim. After quick embraces, my friends hustled me into a series of photographs. Jaws popped against my cheek as they adjusted their smiles between clicks. I embraced from the side, the front, and…
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By Molly Tompkins Who would I be without my resume? Would I still profess a desire to change the world? Would my interests be distributed across academia, athletics, and of course service? Resumes are meant to reflect our sincere interests. However, we undoubtedly magnify our engagements to appeal to others. We work to prove ourselves…
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By Eduardo Rincon On its surface, J.D. Salinger’s “A Perfect Day for Bananafish” is, in essence, a story about nothing in particular. A phone conversation, a swim in the ocean, an altercation in an elevator—there’s not much plot here, and hardly a memorable action until the story’s sudden climactic finale. But it’s precisely in these…
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By Mia Johnson The quote, “My passions may govern me, but they cannot blind me” (149), from Madame de Lafayette’s The Princesse de Clèves, captures the essence of love and confession found in the novel. While the idea of committing a murder and beginning a relationship amidst coping with that reality would be thought to…
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By Maya Landers THE TOWN It isn’t pretty. The clouds hang low and we pass people my mom would call grit-mouths, from her West Virginia childhood, who scratch sores and spit chaw on the sidewalk. There is one Wal-Mart, one coffee shop, one good pizza place in the next town over. You can see Lake…
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By Lucia Llano stage i. sleepwalk I spent that summer sleepwalking, with my hands fluttering in slumber, with imprints of bedsheets on my hot skin. I had fresh eyes. With every July dawn, I woke up with the fullness of my life in my hands. My palms were stained green with it. I lived slowly…
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By Wynn Wilkinson Between 1337 and 1339, the early Italian Renaissance painter Ambrogio Lorenzetti painted a series of six frescoes in the Republic of Siena’s Palazzo Pubblico, or town hall, that have earned the artist a surprising spot on the list of most relevant Western commentators on the origin of the state, right beside big…
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By Wynn Wilkinson This is a gay bar, Jesus. It looks like any other bar on the outside, only it isn’t. Men stand three and four deep at this bar– some just feeling a sense of belonging here, others making contacts for new partners. This isn’t very much like a church, Christ, but many members…
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By Lucia Llano I grew up in the kind of town that made you think of your past lives often. It was a little orange city, melting, pouring over the Mexican border. It never knew of anything but itself. A West Texas town breathing within an egocentric vacuum. A living city amongst the walking dead.…
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By Dylan Moses A Little While Later, Tobacco smoke performed a veil when walking into confession and the virgin man asks ‘Face to face or behind the screen?’ Anonymity take me away, peel open and scrape the callus off like finger nail cutters after monkey bar afternoons He told lies and it was entertaining He…
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By Lucia Llano (how much longer until i can touch you? i’m tired of kissing telephone lines.) –two lovers– on a telephone wire, slender ,but, not quite birds. tightrope feet blistered and tired red solo string-phone distorts e very ot her word. robin-egg figurines on an electric cross snorting each other in, they’d be on…
Hothouse 