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“Hogs, pigs”

A hog isn’t squealing, She’s reading a poem To the evening shift carrying card for Local 031 Abattoir toilers. A wet dog mullet, A side…

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“Thursday”

it’s a Thursday I watch a black squirrel outside my window scrambling to hide acorns paranoid, submerging them different places in the grass how will…

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༄ Discothrash Submissions Open ༄

Your keen research skills and discerning tastes have brought you here for a reason — and that reason is Discorder‘s deeply compassionate and tough-as-nails column,…

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“Motherland”

Maya: Because we all need to breathe in soft stillness from time to time. whether in the big looming shadow of *whispers*…a global crisis. Or…

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Franz the Poet

  I met with Franz at Upstart & Crow: Literary Arts Studio, a local bookstore located on Granville Island. It was a late afternoon on…

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“Falling”

Zane’s delineation of the physical, earthly existence (even when deeply personal to him) posits a sense of commonality among us all. We feel the same…

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“The Price of Admission”

Discothrash #3 “The Price of Admission” B. Caligula   with hopes of despair, I bandage my smallest finger. I wrap a wire wreath of rusted…

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still

The first time I read still I was sitting at a table in the middle of a busy mall. Surrounded by the sounds that people…