Featured Artist: Rachael Ikins
Synkroniciti is thrilled to welcome back writer, poet, photographer and artist Rachael Ikins with “Composition of a Woman.” This memoir piece is part essay, part free-verse poem, meditating on sketches …
Synkroniciti is thrilled to welcome back writer, poet, photographer and artist Rachael Ikins with “Composition of a Woman.” This memoir piece is part essay, part free-verse poem, meditating on sketches …
Synkroniciti is delighted to welcome back poet, writer, photographer and digital artist Yolanda Movsessian, with a luscious photograph tinged with memory, “Lady of Roses.” This image recalls her heritage and …
Time moves in one direction, memory another. We are that strange species that constructs artifacts intended to counter the natural flow of forgetting. ―William Gibson, Distrust That Particular Flavor © Cobija …
I hope you have thought of an experience from your childhood. Something you can remember clearly, something you can see, feel, maybe even smell, as if you were really …
Please join Synkroniciti in welcoming back playwright Peter Dakutis with his one-minute play, “Stream of Memories.” An individual experiences their last few moments, life flashing before their consciousness. If this …
Please welcome writer Cyndy Muscatel. Synkroniciti is pleased to feature “The Wounded Warrior of East Boston Terrace,” a captivating short story in the style of memoir, in our upcoming “Ritual” …
Synkroniciti is delighted to grant our “Ritual” poetry contest award to poet D.R. James for “Rite of Passage,” which explores how many boys, particularly in the American Midwest, became men …
I may appear to suffer from some sort of compulsive repetition syndrome, but these rituals are important to me. I have many places where I sit and think, “I have …
I have read the story of a tribe in southern Africa called the Babemba in which a person doing something wrong, something that destroys this delicate social net, brings all …
I lie down on many a station platform; I stand before many a soup kitchen; I squat on many a bench;–then at last the landscape becomes disturbing, mysterious, and familiar. …
