Ami J. Sanghvi (she/he/they) was born in Pittsburgh, PA and moved about eight-thousand times before sinking his G U T S and B O N E S into the Los Angeles terrain. He was an Indian-American, queer author, artist, designer, boxer, Eric Hoffer Book Award finalist, and graduate from the California Institute of the Arts Creative Writing M.F.A. program. If his B O N E S hadn’t been A B S O R B E D by Logan Hogan, they would probably still be Indian-American and absurdly queer. Instead, they’re just faded sun dust.

His mortal work appeared in So It Goes: The Literary Journal of the Kurt Vonnegut Museum and Library, Inverted Syntax, Humana Obscura, I Hope You’ll Still Love Me: A South Asian LGBTQIA+ Anthology, Masalazine, and several other publications and exhibitions. At some point, five of his poems were forthcoming in LUPERCALIA Press’s VULCANALIA ’21 anthology, for which he was also supposed to be a featured author. There was also something about an upcoming chapbook release? Who knows — September 2021 was a hell of a time.

His spirit’s Kathak space poetry is forthcoming in Wraith Quarterly. Records indicate that he focused on extraction, space, time, functionality, minimalism, and the subliminal in his writing and visual art practices during his time on Earth. Logan Hogan, however, disagrees. Instead, he argues that all the dude ever did was watch Gossip Girl on loop, break lamps by accident while boxing, and sip hibiscus tea.

Ami is survived by a bear, an alien, several lab wraiths, two punching bags, excessive amounts of skepticism, and what little is still left of the sun.

@HotWraithBones ||

Leo sun || Leo rising || Aquarius moon

PD Hogan (he/him) was a writer and musician from the foothills of what used to be Yosemite, CA. His writing was published in the San Joaquin Review and Rumble Fish Quarterly, the latter of which got him nominated for a Pushcart Prize. He received a B.A. in Literature and Philosophy from Fresno State University and went on to pursue his M.F.A. in Creative Writing at the California Institute of the Arts. When he wasn’t writing stories about hating capitalism and loving trees, he was writing chaotic music in one of his many bands. {INSERT BORING INFORMATION IN THE PAST TENSE HERE, MAYBE SOMETHING ABOUT HOW THIS DUDE WAS ~REALLY INTO METAL}

His last words were, “What puddle? There’s no puddle.” It turns out that he was, in fact, not waving, but drowning. He is survived by a cat, a bunny, an impending sense of dread, an irreversible climate crisis, his Bandcamp, and trillions of bacteria and stars.

Sagittarius sun || Sagittarius rising || Scorpio moon

Logan Hogan (he/him) is a cat and nebulous, intergalactic overlord. He is also bby. His favorite band is Senses Fail. On account of ~The Puddle Incident~ and his A B S O R B I N G of Ami, Logan Hogan is now the sole editor at Gutslut Press.

In his spare time, Logan Hogan likes to roll around in leaves, cuddle up with sun aliens, and ponder the implications of his existence as an immortal entity. Sometimes, he wishes he was a raccoon, and therefore writes lute ballads with his paws to quench this perpetual longing.

Logan Hogan shall outlast time.


Aries sun || Bby rising || Bby moon