The new Corpse is made out of rubber and light, like most cool things now, and it’s faster than we think. We have been posting new contents almost every day, despite our avowed intransigence and critical virility. We are determined not to let the site go flabby like many of our fellow websters’ domains where a kind of improvised wilderness reigns, like a hobo campfire under the freeway. There is nothing wrong with those kinds of environs, we wish they still existed in the nonvirtual world (and soon maybe they will!), but we are a discriminating literary journal & mean to keep it that way. This is why, even as we keep posting new bursts of genius, we are trying to release a new issue every two months or so, by changing our Homepage and posting a new pontification from the Lion. The Corpse has a stubborn esthetic (we’ll let you define that!) and we’ll stick to it like chess-players to Washington Square Park. In this issue, we continue posting Simone Ellis’ conversation with William Burroughs, text and audio ready for twitters, and sinking our scholarly teeth deep into the neck of academia by means of essays on uncomfortable subjects. We still have 3,000 submissions nobody looked at (“lasciate ogni speranza...”), which is why we now suspend the reading of submissions until May 2009. The clever and the great will still know how to find us without submitting. As everyone spins faster and chops time into thinner slices, we vow to go sly and slow.