Blunderbuss Magazine

Visceral. Humanistic. On Tumblr. blunderbussmag.com

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There was, for me (and perhaps most transgender guys), an unspoken need for hormones to be a kind of miracle cure.

John Chapman reflects on what testosterone injections can and can’t cure in an essay for Blunderbuss Magazine.

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Find out what makes caterpillars smile in Hallie Bateman’s new comic at Blunderbuss Magazine.

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Help us pay writers & artists! Donate to Blunderbuss (and get some cool swag)!

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It took me two to three years to say that I was aboriginal. But before then, I felt something akin to closeted.

Zong-ru Pan reflects on aboriginal identity in Taiwan, now at Blunderbuss Magazine. Translation by Kevin T.S. Tang.

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I woke to chiseled walls. Though the jagged hole, the grey ocean—

From Daniel Kraines' poem "Ariel," now at Blunderbuss Magazine.

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"Even the men in the bar at TGI Fridays knew what foxes do to toddlers." -From Nicole Callihan's poem "Step 9" at Blunderbuss Magazine. * Art by Hayley Thornton-Kennedy.

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Fragments of Charlie

"Charlie ruthlessly mocks the racist, authoritarian National Front. Charlie has been sued more than a dozen times by Catholic groups who don’t like the way it criticizes the Church’s dogma, crimes, and hypocrisies. Charlie took Israel to task for its disregard for the lives of Palestinian civilians. Charlie ran a column by a serious leftist economist right up until some jihadists assassinated him. Charlie uses racist imagery, giving huge hooked noses to Jews and Arabs. Charlie stands up for immigrants. Charlie publishes cartoons that offend many immigrants. Charlie punches up. Charlie punches down. Charlie is funny. Charlie is repulsive. Charlie contains multitudes." -From Travis Mushett's "Fragments of Charlie" at Blunderbuss Magazine.

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This is how you talk to your racist uncle about immigration reform:

You use your favorite color Sharpie to scrawl “PRIVILEGE” across one of Grandma’s linen napkins and wrap it around your head like a blindfold. Tell him yams are from Africa. Tell him football is rugby for coddled American dweebs. Tell him that turkeys are from Turkey. Tell him haha no of course turkeys aren’t from Turkey idiot. Tell him that you studied abroad in Mexico and that’s why you can say frijoles like a boss. Smear stuffing on your pumpkin pie and garnish with green bean casserole. Chew it up, spit it into your hand, hold it aloft. Tell him America is a melting pot. For more festive weirdness, check out the rest of Travis Mushett's "Your Holiday Think Piece" at Blunderbuss Magazine.

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"A state senator from somewhere declares, None of these liberties mean much after / you’re dead"

A poem from James Grabill.

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Happy Halloween, y'all! Time to ignore work and get down with some spooky Blunderstories! Pick your fright: Monsters - http://www.blunderbussmag.com/hugo/ Ghosts - http://www.blunderbussmag.com/on-the-terror-traditionally-associated-with-developing-real-property/ Murder - http://www.blunderbussmag.com/lament/ Messages from the Dead - http://www.blunderbussmag.com/emails-from-my-dead-mother/ Macklemore - http://www.blunderbussmag.com/the-craven/

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You've never seen comics like "Process Comics." Heather Simon translates poetry to watercolor to prose and back again, a circuit of creativity that sheds light on the mysterious process of art-making.

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"Self-improvement is a kind of death." An interview with performance artist Carla Perez-Gallardo, only at Blunderbuss Magazine.

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"father writes to tell me he has no more cash father writes to tell me he is dying I write asking about the fountain that I think he must adore"

from "Retired Architecture," a new poem by Zuzanna Juszkiewicz with an illustration by Hayley Thornton-Kennedy.

http://www.blunderbussmag.com/retired-architecture/

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'If you don’t do anything you’re ashamed of, then you have nothing to hide.' 'If you don’t want it seen, don’t make it.' Images, video clips, tweets, quotes are torn from their moments of origin. We force them to represent their subjects and speakers in all contexts. I don’t want to be the same at dinner with my parents as I am drinking whiskey at the Levee as I am delivering a lecture on Eugene Debs as I am lying in bed with my girlfriend as I am alone writing. I’m not ashamed of any of these versions of me, but I’m none of them with everyone. Different people and different situations tease out different parts of ourselves. This isn’t inauthenticity; it’s complexity. When we claim the right to stare at each other from all angles, we implicitly demand that everyone always act as one-sized-fits-all people, people for all contexts, homogenized people. That is, we demand that people not act like people at all.

Travis Mushett investigates the ethics of looking & not-looking at images of naked celebrities, ISIS beheadings, and domestic violence, only at Blunderbuss Magazine.

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My mother finds out about the child I did not have from Facebook. This is how regret arrives: in the arms of machines.

From "Rappelling," a new poem by Emily O'Neill up now at Blunderbuss Magazine.

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you ask the man who kneels over your crumbled body what the moon over New York sounds like.

From "The Topography of," a new poem by Keegan Lester up now at Blunderbuss Magazine.

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The farm hadn’t been used as a farm for many years, but the father didn’t have a good word for the unused acres, so he thought of it as a farm anyway, that being the only word he had. He’d planted his daughters there, but they’d borne no fruit. He called it a farm though that was the exact thing it wasn’t.

Get creeped out by "On the Terror Traditionally Associated with Developing Real Property," a new piece of flash fiction from David Connerley Nahm up now at Blunderbuss Magazine.