schoebox collection

who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it, long after he has ceased to love you, just to hold together what he was and is
awww yeah, Canadian Netflix!
holiday classics, friends.

awww yeah, Canadian Netflix!

holiday classics, friends.


- justin waldron


- justin waldron


These are so beautiful we can forgive him for destroying books.

(Source: ianbrooks)

take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws

1 year ago


Local Toronto designer Christina Remenyi’s Fortnight Lingerie.

What stunningly beautiful designs. Romantic and classic. Love.

(via nickelcobalt)

The Kill Sign by Marvin Shackleford

I’m back to blogging! And what better way to start than with this rad story, by an author we’ve just published in Issue 28 of Qwerty!


Vol. 5, No. 4


When I first started reading Marvin Shackleford’s “The Kill Sign,” I knew him simply as “Author 32,” one of the many anonymous writers who make up Armchair/Shotgun’s slush pile. By the time I reached the end of the story you’re about to read, I still hadn’t the faintest idea who this author was, but I was a fan. There was a lot more slush to go, and many more stories to select for what would become our second issue, but “The Kill Sign” came up in every editorial conversation. Each editor had their favorite line (mine is the perfect cadence of: “‘Sure,’ I tell her. ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Listen.’”), and each of us still laughed after the second, third, and fourth read-through.

When the day came to make final decisions on content and unveil our authors’ names, we reached out to Marvin and the rest to ask that they be a part of Issue No. 2. One by one the positive replies rolled in… all except Marvin Shackleford’s. Had we lost the story to a simultaneous submission? Had we waited too long to get back to him?

It felt like weeks to me (though a quick look at the e-mail timestamps tells me it was a mere 48 hours) before we received the very last reply:

“I’m thrilled to hear y’all enjoyed the story and can use it. Sorry for having been so slow getting back to you; we’re in the middle of planting season, and life’s come to a standstill to ride a tractor. Many apologies.”

For me, this mirrored exactly what I’ve loved about “The Kill Sign” from first read—the story is funny, masterfully written, acutely self-aware, and ultimately moving, and it does all of this without the slightest hint of undue grandeur or pretention. Marvin is an incredibly skilled writer. He is also a regular guy with a job to get done. And his protagonist owes a lot to both of those truths.

It’s easy to fetishize “authenticity,” especially from a writing desk in Brooklyn. But what makes “The Kill Sign” for me isn’t the dialect, nor the cooler full of beers, nor the rambling pick-up truck ride through country roads. Rather, “The Kill Sign” is successful because it’s populated by real people, by characters who disturb me with their callousness on one page, only to make me understand the depth of their feeling on the next. By the end you don’t quite know who to root for, or even if there should be rooting involved. And that kind of authenticity is a rare thing.

Armchair/Shotgun is honored to have published Marvin Shackleford’s “The Kill Sign,” and is pleased as hell to be able to share it with even more folks through Recommended Reading. Whatever Marvin’s up to next, I have a feeling I’ll be a fan. We hope you will be too.

Evan Simko-Bednarski

Managing Editor, Armchair/Shotgun

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The Kill Sign

by Marvin Shackleford

Recommended by Armchair/Shotgun

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MY DOG’S ALL THE TIME humping the neighbor’s dog. It happens. Dogs hump. I see these bird dogs in someone’s yard on Jefferson every time I drive by, and half the time they’re humping. They’re good at it. They seem to enjoy it. But I’m not sure this is the case with my dog and the neighbor’s dog. There are problems involving my dog and her dog. Mine, for example, is a mutt, maybe part husky and three or four parts different shepherds or even some wolf, and hers, the neighbor’s, is a fine and well-bred poodle. Not dyed pink or anything but quite fine all the same.

And, really, beyond this being my dog and all that, there’s the fact I’d kind of like to hump my neighbor. Somehow, having our dogs hump doesn’t seem like the best way of advancing aims for human humping. You can’t start a conversation over humping dogs that leads to sex. At least, I can’t, though I haven’t tried. I just don’t find it to be a pleasant prospect—Hi, I’m John Peters, my dog is humping your dog, I live next door, I would like to hump you. While our dogs hump, if necessary.

Or maybe I did try talking to a girl about humping while two dogs humped, once. It was high school, at a party, and whoever’s house we were at had two beagles perched on the back porch steps, big wooden deck under floodlights, and I told Betsy Peller that what they were doing was quite natural and I could give it as good a go as the dogs. I was willing to see what happened. I knew about humping, I’d done a little before, and I felt good about our chances. But Betsy wasn’t entirely enthused. Found it off-putting, apparently. I try to remember what happened to her—seems like she got knocked up and moved to the river, out around Owensboro. Somebody said she decided to live off the government, and it galls me raw to think she wouldn’t give me just one drunk night when we were kids. Then I wonder what kind of a person it makes me, bitter or stingy or what, sitting around and remembering all sorts of stuff like that from almost ten years ago.

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(Source: bryko, via berfrois)

(Source: airows, via akindofsunlight)

mason jars everywhere!

If you are generally well equipped to deal with a zombie apocalypse you will be prepared for a hurricane, pandemic, earthquake, or terrorist attack

The Center for Disease Control (via millionsmillions)


I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.Jorge Luis Borges



I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.
Jorge Luis Borges