I’m just really angry. And a lot of times when I sit down to write, that’s what’s guiding me.

Writers like Woolf fought our battles so valiantly that women writing in the anglosphere today seem to have forgotten what the fight was about.

Did we forget that other women were fighting for the rights we acquired, and that we must also fight for those who have not yet obtained them? Did our well of solidarity run dry?

ATLANTIC HOTEL’s moral compass is far wonkier than even the most clever parody of a hardboiled detective noir.

Writers like Woolf fought our battles so valiantly that women writing in the anglosphere today seem to have forgotten what the fight was about.

ATLANTIC HOTEL’s moral compass is far wonkier than even the most clever parody of a hardboiled detective noir.

Wong’s speakers are possessed of a transforming power, but the physical realities around them push back, or bind them in ways they can’t escape.

Civil upends our assumptions around artistic displays of the body, demands we consider the fact that performance art engages with unruly ghosts and wounded riddles.

I’m just really angry. And a lot of times when I sit down to write, that’s what’s guiding me.

We might say partial education is sisterhood and brotherhood of, with, and for the general antagonism.

Leisure, hanging out, as the ground for collective practice, as emergent, collective practice under constant revision, but also as the struggle against the time and unit measures, against the access, of logistical capitalism. Leisure as struggle. That was Michael Brown and his friends.

I think of illness politics as similar to and connected to and intersecting with sexual politics and racial politics and class politics. Disability activists are some of the people doing this work the best right now, because they really understand that disability is central to almost everything that we do as a society.

A typology of the beggar in Western culture.

The contradictions of nostalgic crafting.

The grotesque humor of Ralph Eugene Meatyard’s photography.

We sold ten-dollar juice to people who say, “fuck the rules” while, simultaneously, making the rules.

Did we forget that other women were fighting for the rights we acquired, and that we must also fight for those who have not yet obtained them? Did our well of solidarity run dry?

This issue of the Full Stop Quarterly is concerned with the processes and systems that make up and facilitate writing and reading, and in particular with poetry, the perpetual avant-garde.

I don’t know what it means to be loved only partially, to be longed for but never as a whole.

The omniscient narrator is essentially supernatural, a source of information that has no real-world antecedent—in reality even divine revelations are not considered universally trustworthy.