Contributors

Brian Evenson

Contributor History

The Polygamy of Language, Conjunctions:26
Internal, Conjunctions:32
Calling the Hour, Conjunctions:34
Müller, Conjunctions:37
January, Online 06-09-2003
Two Stories, Conjunctions:41
Younger , Conjunctions:45
Desire with Digressions, Conjunctions:48
The Art of Curling (A Nest of Ninnies, with James Schuyler, 1969), Conjunctions:49
Angel of Death, Conjunctions:50
The Adjudicator, Conjunctions:51
Desire with Digressions, Conjunctions:48 (mp3, 00:05:37)
The Oxygen Protocol, Conjunctions:55
Literature and the Right Not to Die, Conjunctions:59
Torpor, Conjunctions:60
Cult, Conjunctions:62
The Particulars, Conjunctions:63 (pp. 326-334)
The Open Curtain, Multimedia 01-05-2016 (mp3, 00:07:43)
Born Stillborn, Multimedia 01-05-2016 (mp3, 00:14:49)
Invisible Box, Multimedia 01-05-2016 (mp3, 00:08:27)
An Interview, Conjunctions:67
Smear, Conjunctions:67
In Dreams, Conjunctions:72
Two Stories, Conjunctions:73
Curator — A Selected Text from Conjunctions:73, Earth Elegies, Online 11-22-2019
The Thickening, Conjunctions:74

Biography

Longtime Conjunctions contributing editor Brian Evenson is the author of overa dozen books of fiction, most recently the story collection The Glassy Burning Floor of Hell (Coffee House Press). His work has won the World Fantasy and Shirley Jackson Awards, and he has been a finalist for the Edgar Award and the Ray Bradbury Award.

Connect

In Print

Conjunctions:76

Fortieth Anniversary Issue

Spring 2021
Edited by Bradford Morrow

Online

Six Poems

by Jed Munson

October 20, 2021

Launch

codes, we stripped species,
            our insecure
hands of gloves
to crack the test           to our capitalizable
future. Pray
            for the multiverse I’m working on
at midnight.

Five Poems

by Emma De Lisle

October 13, 2021

Forgive us. We were waiting
here, in the thickening ice. We worked a long time. Now
we try to give what we found, a little basket
hiding behind each back, full of the young shoots.
They are so green. Mercifully green. We say so. Yes,
they are alive, we say. We, too. We are still sick.

The Jackal

by Joy Baglio

October 6, 2021

Friday night, and you have done the unthinkable. You’ve taken your father’s Jackal Ghost bowling ball from its locked hard-shell case under your mother’s bed—the ball that looks like a purple and black version of the earth, a jackal’s head rising from the swirls—and gone to meet Teddy and Zeke and Evan and Marya, most importantly Marya, for a night of bowling, the game your dead father was obsessed with: the game that, according to your mother, ruins people.