Dennis Villelmi: Welcome to B.A.D. Press, Valentina. We’re happy to have you here to chat for a moment as we’ve seen some great things from you since you began carving your way onto the literary scene. How have you been lately? Valentina Cano: Thanks so much for having me virtually here to chat a bit. […]

the town was 4th avenue-restless, thunder booming like god tossing in bed while sleeping off a bender. for three weeks the sun had been a junkie’s promise and the flat was a zeppelin crash. the flies were biblical. jess looked at matt with eyes that were poison ivy as she took his gun from the […]

  Once the bookshelves were overhead high, and the scent of the glue helped the print catch your eyes. Pupils are no longer seeing. Darkness forms from failing ink. The reflection of words is stopped. The need to track symbols gone. The transmission of ideas replaced, from the printed page, through wires curving and inserted […]

To see the fire coming at you from five mile away, like a funeral cortege covered in red bite marks, was proof, if any of us needed it, that it’s not pleasant out there, that, in fact, it’s close to fucking awful, one moment after another teetering on the edge of calamity, and yet the […]

  Dennis Williamson: Welcome to The Bees Are Dead, Jill! You can’t begin to imagine how excited we are to have an icon of the genre such as yourself with us for this most unhallowed moment; it makes B.A.D. feel rather like, if you’ll forgive the allusion, a phantom stalking an opera house. I remember […]

    mostly lying in manky rooms curtains drawn            the weight of sea-side town choking decomposing shopfronts under midwinter heavens   it’s too easy sometimes to give way to tears   even the lake is fucked            you say rusty shopping trolleys mouldy condoms squawking seagull staring at its own reflection         […]

  I was told, that in days of old, the old ones walked unseen. But Astor, demon king, and all the rest, have endured classification and kept havoc as their pledge. Cain, crushed under stones, and Judas on a tree, Nero choked by strings that betrayed him, his music not in tune with the human […]

  The smells of old cooking fires cling to their clothes and hair. I’ve been warned not to look too closely at their faces. “Let us in,” they beg. They swear for the ten thousandth time that they’re deserving. We like to think we’re like peace-loving Switzerland, just without all those cows and Alps, but […]