Dear Brucians,

We’re excited to present ISSUE 13 of Nude Bruce Review. We’ve been spare-time-slinging this good shit for over a decade, and we’re forthrightly gladdened by the fact that you’re still with us. But the truth is, not everyone is still with us.

Our dear teacher and friend, Mark Spitzer, passed away in January. He went suddenly, done in by a devil called cancer, and we miss him like hell. Mark was a big, loud, brilliant, wild man. He was also shy, subtle, funny, and he really fucking cared. He was a stupendous writer. He wrote in virtually every genre, translated freak French poets, published like a machine, taught his craft for decades, and published other writers (including us) as if his life depended on it. Maybe it did. In any case, look out for his collected poems, which will drop this summer. Mark lives on in those verses and—pardon the saccharinitude—in our hearts.

Thanks for listening, folks. And for reading. And for writing. Thanks to all of our contributors, without whom Bruce would have to put on the clothes of capitalist servitude, get a job, and quit his habit. Thanks to Desiree Remick for her judicious assistance with the fiction. And thanks to Britney Logan for designing and illustrating the beautiful cover, featuring our own Bruce in the guise of our beloved friend, Mark (let’s be honest, there was always something of Mark in Bruce—our literary lodestone).

Andrew & Tim