Latest writing

The Architecture of a Stray Lock of Hair

Barys Paulau · Fiction · October 2026
Cristina had no idea—none—of what she could do to a room just by sitting in it. She would fold herself into my father’s old leather armchair, one leg tucked under her, and read. The amber light through the dusty blinds caught the gold in her hair, and I would forget whatever I had been saying.We met three weeks earlier at a reading on Avenue B. A basement where the pipes sweated and the poets either bombed or transcended. I noticed her because she was the only person not checking her phone. She stood there with a glass of cheap wine and listened. She was beautiful, but that wasn’t it. She seemed indifferent to being beautiful, which in New York functions almost as an act of aggression.Italian. From Bologna. A year at Pratt for architecture. Her English was better than mine, with just enough accent to remind you she came from somewhere else. She said “actually” like a question, a small…
Art Gallery
Cavalry Charge by Bogdan Constantin, Oil on canvas
Bogdan Constantin · Oil on canvas · September 2026
View the gallery →
Recent Pieces
View all writing →
Poetry
We the People’s Weather Report
Jeannie E. Roberts
The atmosphere shifted in ninth grade.
Thunderstorms controlled the air.
As if an anvil
Read →
Essays
What “Never Again” Left Out
Raghoodi Azab
Tap, tap, tap. My pencil whispered, scribbling annotations onto the paper. Then, my eyes flickered to the title: "The Perils of Indifference." This White House address, delivered…
Read →
Play
Cupcake
Jomiyan
TWIG — frail, self-conscious, careful in her movements. Wears a loose white dress.BUCK — large, extravagant, magnetic. Wears loose black layers.SETTING: Scene One: A party, in memory — smoke, chatter, half-light. Scene Two: TWIG’s…
Read →
Fragment
The Appointment for the Spectrum
Jaia Papitz
PARTICLEThey assembled it on the roof the way men build sins. Quietly. With confidence that had no permission.A broken steel bowl flipped upside down to catch whatever fell from the sky.…
Read →
Other
the levelness of the game
Dustin Miller
You’ve seen the game, and likely played it.
Roll the golf ball up the short wooden incline. It comes back to you unless it drops…
first.
Read →
iExile Alcoves
Explore all →
Poetry
The pulse of language in its most unruly form.
Enter →
Fiction
Stories, disruptions, and other architectures.
Enter →
Translation
The world in another tongue.
Enter →
Satire
Sharp laughter. Serious intent.
Enter →
Essay
Ideas, interrogations, and personal maps.
Enter →
Creative Nonfiction
Truth, braided with form and fire.
Enter →
Fragment
Pieces of a larger, unresolved thing.
Enter →
Other
Hybrid, experimental, without borders.
Enter →
Plays
Voices for the stage and beyond.
Enter →
Screenplay
Written for the screen, scene by scene.
Enter →
Art
Visuals that won't sit still.
Enter →
From the archive
Jaia Papitz · 2018 · Poetry
A recovered text from the first iExile body — returned to circulation, not as nostalgia, but because it still burns.
Returned to circulation
2018 — Quest
Recovered text
2018 — Symboless
Recovered text
2018 — Of Else
Recovered text
From iExile Press
Bulă, or How We Invented Quantum
Bulă, or How We Invented Quantum
Jaia Papitz
A literary satire about laughter, bureaucracy, and the small cosmic errors that keep reality from sealing itself shut.

Get the E-book & dispatches, books, and texts the archive refused to lose.

Subscribe and we’ll send you Bulă, or How We Invented Quantum — plus occasional writing, book news, and things we find worth reading.

One email → E-book + newsletter. Unsubscribe anytime.

Buy us a glass — we take rainchecks too.

Support iExile if you’d like. No pressure, no account needed.

$
Support iExile →
No thanks, just the E-book
Beauty prevails since the puddle, unaware, always reflects the sky. — iExile
As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.