Ross Nervig

Ross Nervig
Ross Nervig is a writer living in Minneapolis and a founding editor at Revolver. He also thinks that he's a musician, a visual artist, and an all-around good guy.

Works on Revolver

Sleeping with David Foster Wallace
The Alleged Review //
Sleeping with David Foster Wallace by

Infinite Jest was a love affair. The paragraphs and paragraph-long sentences and the pages-long paragraphs I would read and reread between that slow-shutter effect of falling asleep, my god, those moments seem to me somehow spiritualized. 2.6 lbs moving ever toward an equal weight on both hemispheres—sitting on my chest like a squat shifty little angel.

Your English Degree
The Alleged Review //
Your English Degree by

You’re lazy. Let’s get that out of the way before we proceed. If you prefer an evening spent with a book, a joint, and a bottle of red wine to a young professional mixer, you are one lazy piece of shit.

Tangled Cords
The Alleged Review //
Tangled Up in White and Light Gray by

These aren’t just simple knots but a nodo difficultas so Gordian I’ve nearly wishboned the branching cords down to the universally compatible 3.5mm headset jack in aggravation. Often, I’ve wanted to whip the literal rigamarole into the gutter. The Second Law of Thermodynamics states: everything tends toward entropy or disorder. No shit.

door chain
The Alleged Review //
Forgetting to Undo the Door Chain Lock by

What’s paramount, is the momentum. The day has got to be faced, the engine is no longer idling. A series of scenes are projected on the theater outside the domicile. Your street, the dumpster squirrels, your car already warm with the morning sun, the morning music flowing from open windows, barely strained by screen.

The uncontrollable weeping I overheard
The Alleged Review //
The Uncontrollable Weeping I Overheard by

She reached me over the dry mammer of window unit air conditioners. I sat on the fire escape in the hot night four stories up, wanting sleep, wanting a quiet mind. Getting neither. Her voice, like a violin but unmistakable in its pain, rose from a floor or two below.