tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18968807212760466682024-03-13T02:23:38.385-04:00l u c i f e r o u sUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger111125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-71964151417894338222014-04-03T09:00:00.000-04:002014-04-03T09:00:00.785-04:00SUBLIMINAL SYNTAX by Wayne Mason Query=<br />
Singularity > Hope<br />
<br />
Networks with melancholy computers<br />
or<br />
other machines w/biological<br />
intentions<br />
(outsource government conspiracy);<br />
<br />
Is it your<br />
technological<br />
blood visions?<br />
<br />
Invisible utopias<br />
<br />
Users wield<br />
metaphysical hardware<br />
open yet, age was insatiable<br />
some technology<br />
sentient<br />
pessimistic<br />
<br />
Imagining flesh<br />
& digital bondage<br />
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Wayne Mason is a writer and sound artist from Central Florida. His words have appeared across the small press in magazines both print and online. He is the author of six chapbooks. and is the former poetry editor for <i>Side Of Grits</i>, and <i>The Tampa Bay Muse</i>. Wayne Mason has also been active in experimental music for nearly twenty years. He records ambient, experimental and noise sounds, both solo and as one half of the electronic project Blk/Mas. <a href="http://brokenzen.wordpress.com/">http://brokenzen.wordpress.com/</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-50258722481559558972014-04-02T09:00:00.000-04:002014-04-02T09:00:03.619-04:00TOO GODDAMN CUTE by Misti Rainwater-Lites<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Misti Rainwater-Lites is the author of <i><a href="http://www.treekillerink.com/product/bullshit_rodeo" target="_blank">Bullshit Rodeo</a></i> and other works of fiction. She writes her ass off at <a href="http://dondeestaeldiscochupacabra.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Chupacabra Disco</a>. When she isn't writing her ass off she's frying chicken for her man and playing Dillinger with her son.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-4938301381085818722014-04-01T09:00:00.000-04:002014-03-31T10:52:52.400-04:00BREAKFAST by Misti Rainwater-Lites<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Misti Rainwater-Lites is the author of <i><a href="http://www.treekillerink.com/product/bullshit_rodeo" target="_blank">Bullshit Rodeo</a></i> and other works of fiction. She writes her ass off at <a href="http://dondeestaeldiscochupacabra.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Chupacabra Disco</a>. When she isn't writing her ass off she's frying chicken for her man and playing Dillinger with her son.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-61762714755543240442014-03-31T09:00:00.000-04:002014-03-31T09:00:10.197-04:00HIS PSYCHO EX by Misti Rainwater-Lites<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Misti Rainwater-Lites is the author of <i><a href="http://www.treekillerink.com/product/bullshit_rodeo" target="_blank">Bullshit Rodeo</a></i> and other works of fiction. She writes her ass off at <a href="http://dondeestaeldiscochupacabra.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Chupacabra Disco</a>. When she isn't writing her ass off she's frying chicken for her man and playing Dillinger with her son.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-54388464347048664362014-03-29T09:00:00.000-04:002014-03-29T09:00:05.243-04:00SLUT by Stephen Weighill<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/nbu42HcAnPA?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Stephen Weighill is a comedian from the Bay Area. His YouTube channel is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/warhill30" target="_blank">WeighAwesome</a>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-11333184520425304612014-03-28T09:00:00.000-04:002014-03-28T09:00:11.664-04:00A TALE OF SEVERAL BEAUTIFULS by Aimee HermanBlame it on symmetry. <br />
<br />
How near are her eyes to carefully constructed bridge of nose. Does she starve. Are her hips like the horizon, without fault or curve. Is her skin more mocha than medium rare. What blooms in the months outside of spring or autumn and when the leaves go away, how sturdy are the branches. Does your grass wilt or does it arrive like green erections plunged out of earth’s pores. <br />
<br />
Blame it on what distracts us. Call it <i>brushed</i> air. Call it <i>removed particles of mistake</i>. <br />
<br />
Her smile is white and heterosexual. His hair is without recede. That home is window’d and gorgeous due to its skylights and built-in 401K plan. Does her cellulite show. Does your health plan cover the creams you will need to rub<i> it</i> away. What is your routine. How many chemicals have attempted to peel away your skin; I think you might be beautiful under that fifth layer. Keep ripping at yourself. Scoop out and where there is tunnel, there is possibility for <i>better</i>. <br />
<br />
Blame it on tents and drawers and the tenacity of lies. Collocate <i>im</i>plant with <i>im</i>balance. <br />
<br />
Remove your girdle now. Help the redheaded dancer with her zipper and linger your looks at the way she folds like love letters. Quietly ask if you can dance your language into the cleavage of her mind. And the other one with painted eyebrows, thicker than the remorse from your 20s. She is beautiful too. And that graffiti’d church that might be a bank now or <i>was</i> but has become a collaborative celebration of dripped paint now. And her nipples. And that cloud that kind of looks like your best friend from tenth grade. And that fence, painted turquoise. And your neck. And that meal you fed me when my palms were too tired to lift and curl. And that Wednesday you fell asleep inside me. And that rooftop garden. And the smell of patchouli you snuck inside magazine. And your sodium. And my blood. And <i>that</i> too.<br />
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<a href="http://aimeeherman.wordpress.com/">http://aimeeherman.wordpress.com/</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-66653712283214430452014-03-27T09:00:00.000-04:002014-03-27T09:00:08.981-04:00BIDDING ADIEU by Aparna PathakHe puffed every breath<br />To paint a dream with smoke<br />But with every exhalation<br />He could see colors<br />Bidding adieu to lifeUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-86353468057423690372014-03-26T09:00:00.000-04:002014-03-26T09:00:10.870-04:00RAINY DAY COLLAGE by Ira Joel Haber<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Ira Joel Haber was born and lives in Brooklyn. He is a sculptor, painter, book dealer, photographer, and teacher. His work has been seen in numerous group shows both in USA and Europe and he has had 9 one-man shows including several retrospectives of his sculpture. His work is in the collections of The Whitney Museum Of American Art, New York University, The Guggenheim Museum, The Hirshhorn Museum & The Albright-Knox Art Gallery. His paintings, drawings, photographs and collages have been published in over 140 online and print magazines including<i> Rock Heals, Otoliths, Winamop, Melancholia's Tremulous Dreadlocks, Barfing Frog, The Raving Dove, DeComp, Foliate Oak, Siren, Prose Toad, Triplopia, Thieves Jargon, Opium, Dirt, The Centrifugal Eye, The DMQ Review, Broadsided, Hotmetalpress, Double Dare Press, Events Quarterly, Unlikely Stories, Coupremine, Cerebration,Chick Flicks, Softblow, Eclectica Magazine, Backwards City Review, Right Hand Pointing, Ascent Aspirations Magazine, Brew City Magazine, Superstition Review, Fiction Attic, Mastodon Dentist, Blue Print Review, Ellipsis, The Indelible Kitchen, Cricket, Entelechy, So To Speak, Taj Mahal Review, The Fifteen Project, The Externalist, Why Vandalism, Mungbeing Magazine, Lamination Colony, Paradigm, Lily, Literary Fever, Glassfire Magaine, The Houston Literary Review, Lilies and Cannonballs, Wheelhouse Magazine, Terra Incognita, Qarrtsiluni, The Tusculum Review, Multidementional, 34th Parallel, Wood Coin, Sacramento Poetry, Art & Music, Anti-Poetry, Divine Dirt Quarterly, The Mom Egg, Disenthralled, Etcetera,Sea Stories , Bicycle Review, , Down In The Dirt, Psychic Meatloaf, Diverse Voices, Blue Lotus, Forge, The Front Porch Review,The Blotter, Breadcrumb Scabs, Guerilla Pamphlets, Imitation Fruit, Front Range, Convergence, Meat For Tea, Grey Sparrow Press, A Handful Of Dust, Ink Filled Page,The Journal Of Unlikely Entomology, Frequencies, Orion headless, Missive, Lit n Image, Media Virus, Spudgun, Bare Hands, Up The Staircase Quarterly, Maintenant 6, Glass Coin, Off The Rocks, Sliver of Stone , Blue Five Notebook, Map Literary, Literary Ophans, Pinyon Review, Decades Review, Monongahela Review,Amethyst Arsenic, Blue Five Notebook,Tenement Block Review, Cleaver Magazine,The McNeese Review,Storm Cellar,The Original Van Gogh's Ear Anthology, Red Fez, New York Dreaming, Slippage Literary Magazine,Madhat Lit, Olentangy Review,The Writing Disorder, Symmetry Pebbles, Petrichor Review, Cigale Literary Magazine, Episodic Magazine, The Writing Disorder, Four Ties Lit Review, Decades Review, Crack The Spine, Elohi Gadugi Journal, American Athenaeum,Fiction Fix,The Squalor Review, The Doctor T. J. Eckleburg Review,The Open Road Review,he Meadowland Review,Thrice Fiction, Banango,Sassafras,The Germ, Synaesthesia Magazine,Santa Clara Review, inkblot,Vagabond City, Compose Journal,The Indian River Review, Ricohet, Oddball Magazine,Verse Junkies, Superstition Review, The Black Light Engine Room,Watershed Review</i> & <i>The NewerYork</i>. He has received three National Endowment for the Arts Fellowships, two Pollock-Krasner grants, the Adolph Gottlieb Foundation grant and, in 2010, he received a grant from Artists' Fellowship Inc. He currently teaches art to retired public school teachers at The United Federation of Teachers program in Brooklyn.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-14488868205455500302014-03-25T09:00:00.000-04:002014-03-25T09:00:13.976-04:00ABSURDITY BECOMES HER TASTE CURVE by Mark Sebastian JordanIt wasn’t the army helmet bra<br />
nor the hat with hummingbird feeders.<br />
<br />
It wasn’t the clear bubble-wrap dress<br />
nor the organic eggplant shoes.<br />
<br />
It wasn’t even the smartphone earrings<br />
nor the corrugated cardboard corduroys.<br />
<br />
It was the elusive slip made of Higgs bosons<br />
that made us all sit up and take notice.<br />
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Mark Sebastian Jordan has been an active presence on the Ohio arts scene for thirty years as an actor, director, playwright, and improv comedian. His Mansfield Trilogy of historical dramas was featured in sell-out performances for a decade at Malabar Farm State Park. As a living history performer, Jordan has portrayed Orson Welles, George Frideric Handel, Dan De Quille, and Clement Vallandigham. He has also been featured in television programs such as <i>Ghost Hunters, Mysteries at the Museum, My Ghost Story</i>, and <i>House of the Unknown</i>, and appeared as an extra in the classic film <i>The Shawshank Redemption</i>.<div>
<br />Jordan is also a poet with numerous publication credits. He was awarded 2nd place in the 2013 Jesse Stuart Memorial Award by the National Association of State Poetry Societies, and has also received awards from the Ohio Poetry Association, the Ohio Arts Council, The Ohio State University, Case Western Reserve University, The Associated Press, The Rupp Foundation, The Ohio Theater Alliance, the Ohio Community Theatre Association, the Ohio Eta Chapter of the Theta Alpha Phi drama honor fraternity, and the Mansfield/Richland County Convention and Visitors Bureau.<br /><br />Jordan has worked as a freelance journalist for publications all over Ohio as well as ones based in New York City and London, England. He currently reviews concerts of the Cleveland Orchestra for Seen & Heard International. His humorous satire <i>1776 & All That </i>is available from XOXOX Press. Jordan's poetry chapbook <i>The Book of Jobs </i>was published by Pudding House Press, and his next chapbook, <i>Murder Ballads</i>, will be published by Poets Haven Press in 2014.<br /><br />Mark lives at Malabar Farm State Park in Lucas, where he runs the Hostelling International hostel, which provides affordable accommodations to travelers of all ages, promoting the idea of world peace through culturally diverse travel.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-81646811000896057132014-03-24T09:00:00.000-04:002014-03-24T09:00:02.242-04:00IF YOU CAN’T STAND THE HEAT by Cassandra Dalletteven the trees look tired <br />
the sad brown grass about to combust <br />
the Low Rider Oldies are singing smoothly for the cool of dusk <br />
It’s tempting to start the drink now <br />
but with the sun this high <br />
I’d be laid out with the dogs <br />
panting <br />
a gin and tonic sweating a glass with lime <br />
reminds me of last night <br />
how the boy was lapping me <br />
how he grinds into me <br />
my hips a bowl of oatmeal <br />
butter melting the middle <br />
how he always finds a deeper spot <br />
then my phone rings <br />
and I need to go home <br />
make up stories <br />
explain the stoned look <br />
in my eye.<br />
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Cassandra Dallett occupies Oakland, CA. Cassandra writes of a counter culture childhood in Vermont and her ongoing adolescence in San Francisco Bay Area. She has published in <i>Slip Stream, Sparkle and Blink, Out Of Our, Up The River, Hip Mama</i>, and <i>The Criminal Class Review</i>, among many others. A full-length book of poetry <i>Wet Reckless</i> will be released from Manic D Press in the spring of 2014.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-43608276887170205092014-03-23T09:00:00.000-04:002014-03-23T09:00:10.112-04:00LITTLE GIRL STARES by J. Bradleyat herself in the mirror. Little girl asks, pleads, demand I show myself, to come out. I whisper to her bones if I walk outside of her skin, the air untwine me until I am molecule, then atom, then memory. Little girl asks what is a molecule. I remind her skin, nerves, bones how the only science she understands is the science of want, how she constantly confuses it for need.<br />
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J. Bradley is the author of the graphic poetry collection The Bones of Us (YesYes Books), with art by Adam Scott Mazer. He lives at <a href="http://iheartfailure.net/">iheartfailure.net</a>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-53864570960497084002014-03-22T09:00:00.000-04:002014-03-22T09:00:02.934-04:00SQUALOR by Kevin M. HibshmanDirty pier.<br />
Someone carved an image into the rotting planks.<br />
The patron saint of damned waitresses and drunk surfers?<br />
The awful smell of poisoned ocean.<br />
They all roll back on the foam.<br />
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Kevin M. Hibshman has had poems, collages and reviews published in numerous journals and magazines world wide since 1990. In addition to editing his own poetry magazine, <i>Fearless</i>, both online and in print for nearly twenty years, he has authored fourteen chapbooks of poetry, the most recent being <i>Incessant Shining</i> available from Propaganda Press. He received his BA in Liberal Arts form Union institute and University/Vermont College in 2010.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-63666349465445463462014-03-21T09:00:00.000-04:002014-03-21T09:00:10.275-04:00TINY DEVASTATIONS by Alyssa YankwittThe hour rises<br />
and there are things I don’t understand<br />
<br />
for instance, why you<br />
are always saving me in dreams<br />
<br />
carrying my limbs<br />
through circus tents<br />
<br />
gently placing each fallen extremity<br />
into a plastic, cracked blue bucket.<br />
<br />
You say <i>it’s ok love,</i><br />
<i> I’m protecting them</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i> in case they don’t grow back again</i><br />
<i> I will sew them onto your body.</i><br />
<br />
And I believe you<br />
<br />
know this is the truth<br />
because like each dream before<br />
<br />
you promise me <i>love, I will teach you to fly</i><br />
and do<br />
<br />
only after confessing<br />
<i>we are both casualties of the same war</i>.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">A</span>lyssa Yankwitt received an MFA from The City College of New York, where she teaches in the English department. She is a Staff Developer for Poetry Outreach, an organization bringing poetry into NYC schools. Most recently, her poems have appeared in <i>Up the Staircase Quarterly, The Lake, Sein und Werden, Cloud City Press, Stone Highway Review</i>, and are forthcoming in <i>Houston</i> & <i>Nomadic Voices</i>. Alyssa has incurable wanderlust, enjoys drinking whiskey, hates writing about herself in third person, and loves a good disaster. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-67175554708006423952014-03-14T09:00:00.000-04:002014-03-14T16:11:50.690-04:00SCRUPULOUS TEMPTATIONS by Pam BenjaminInfuse joy and Lent<br />
Christ in the desert <br />
<br />
Large quantities of <br />
shock and chemical mercy.<br />
<br />
Biologically there is no God and<br />
telepathic insight resembles schizophrenia.<br />
<br />
Conditioned to mystical surgery.<br />
A decomposing visionary sits troubled in the corner.<br />
<br />
The party continues:<br />
Did you try the wine?<br />
She burned down the house to roast that pig.<br />
Don't pigeonhole the Mexican peasant.<br />
Nothing is Eden.<br />
<br />
The world sits directly behind these voices.<br />
Intolerable surroundings and moral infections,<br />
<br />
comfortable intellect and spiritual fashion<br />
create religious overtones<br />
<br />
and the party continues.<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>Pam Benjamin is a poet turned stand-up comic. She is also the Program Director of <a href="http://www.mutinyradio.fm/">www.mutinyradio.fm</a>. Listen to "Pamtastic's Comedy Clubhouse" every Fri 8-11pm pac. Oh, and buy her novella "Voices" on Kindle here:<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Voices-Pam-Benjamin-ebook/dp/B005L3RQQW/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1386192534&sr=8-2&keywords=voices+pam+benjamin">http://www.amazon.com/Voices-Pam-Benjamin-ebook/dp/B005L3RQQW/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1386192534&sr=8-2&keywords=voices+pam+benjamin</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-57604000269209146722014-03-13T17:18:00.002-04:002014-03-21T10:20:21.107-04:00FEMDOM by Craig PodmoreBankers are antichrists that devour the weak.<br />
<br />
Nuclear trigger-happy.<br />
Decrease the populous with<br />
Impoverishment, enforced cannibalism<br />
And scheduled executions.<br />
<br />
The gluttonous perils<br />
That are their very nature.<br />
Used condoms and<br />
Hypodermic baby deaths.<br />
<br />
Satanic economy.<br />
Wretched methods of killing.<br />
Selling news.<br />
The soulless poke at the bodies with sticks.<br />
The stasis of a pallid face filmed on mobile phones.<br />
<br />
Add the make-up.<br />
Add the tagline.<br />
Add the smile.<br />
Add the naked model.<br />
Add the airbrush.<br />
Add the stoic nature that bemuses us<br />
Which then goes on to making us all forget<br />
About our real problems like diseases,<br />
Revolutions and school hall massacres.<br />
<br />
Perfection is a form of apathy.<br />
Beauty is an anaesthetic.<br />
A clinical sodomy of your own realisation;<br />
Forget about the guns and the carnage and<br />
The suicides and the general waste.<br />
<br />
It is evident, that on your credit card receipt,<br />
It reveals that you are a method of killing.<br />
<br />
Selling souls like Oedipus in a dirty movie.<br />
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<a href="http://www.ammosexbarbiturates.com/">www.ammosexbarbiturates.com</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-25526602396956134202014-03-12T09:00:00.000-04:002014-03-12T09:00:00.552-04:00NOTHING IS KNOWN OF HIS PERSONALITY, OR HIS THOUGHTS, OR THE MEANING OF HIS ART by John Sweetlet the dead be the dead and let the <br />
living feast on their bones <br />
<br />
let money be the law of the land <br />
<br />
sons & daughters of the poor good for <br />
fucking good for sending off to war and <br />
there is humor to be found in religion if <br />
you can kill before being killed <br />
<br />
there is the ghost of bosch in <br />
every prayer you choke on <br />
<br />
there is the sound of his laughter as <br />
the bullet finds your skull <br />
<br />
compassion is too precious to <br />
be wasted on just anyone Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-69245619086700443282014-03-11T09:00:00.000-04:002014-03-11T09:00:00.789-04:00BONE DOG by Rob Plath<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy9k-n4qd7bOyNfnSCKmMc3OTDrpgWZFss2NITz2WxFmGVGbVco0RD9SdXfJK5Qx4Bgw820e-yoTvoSBGvUBXVrzfSj5lxqu8NEaofm2UnkOfRTfzdBeRlomSNkxBcQHRLj4CbxwP2OYvD/s1600/rp.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy9k-n4qd7bOyNfnSCKmMc3OTDrpgWZFss2NITz2WxFmGVGbVco0RD9SdXfJK5Qx4Bgw820e-yoTvoSBGvUBXVrzfSj5lxqu8NEaofm2UnkOfRTfzdBeRlomSNkxBcQHRLj4CbxwP2OYvD/s1600/rp.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-28219066019466447812014-03-10T09:00:00.000-04:002014-03-10T09:00:11.745-04:00GRATEFUL I SUPPOSE by Rob Plathon fire <br /> up to my <br /> fucking neck<br /> <br /> while at <br /> the center<br /> of a <br /> frozen lake<br /> <br /> i still have <br /> my sight<br /> to foolishly <br /> gaze at <br /> the starsUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-88901765188195786602014-03-09T09:00:00.000-04:002014-03-09T09:00:03.803-04:00LOVE HURTS by Michael GroverLove can hurt sometimes<br />
Not necessarily<br />
Even romantic love<br />
Love hurts<br />
Friends grow apart<br />
die<br />
fuck each other over<br />
Being human is hard work<br />
Love hurts<br />
Everybody dies alone<br />
Yet we die together<br />
Love hurts<br />
Most people are<br />
Just in it for themselves<br />
Love hurts<br />
When you're trying to be<br />
Something bigger than self<br />
Love hurtsUnknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-31054776747895491962014-03-08T09:00:00.000-05:002014-03-08T09:00:03.188-05:00WHAT HAPPENS by David McLeansex is what happens on piles of naked skeletons<br />
stripped of the senseless insensible<br />
flesh,<br />
<br />
it is all the terrible under every memory,<br />
the proximate painless<br />
and never parties yet,<br />
<br />
like William Burroughs climbing out of a car<br />
so old it is permanently history<br />
and has always been rusty freedom<br />
<br />
to dream in, empty boys, suicide<br />
the cruel exigencies of non-being;<br />
what happens is flesh and skeletons,<br />
<br />
the banality of good and evilUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-2701234952331984552014-03-07T09:00:00.000-05:002014-03-07T09:00:08.102-05:00MERCYFUL KING ALAN by SB Stokes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIV2Ia6WiV_uasb7EyWLCPtuLAwzdhGNep2rJv-AwnH6YEekz_LVUfrbHJkhnHUPEzpPuV3k3I-hNuvLKweEqA8CLZB1xpSuTVhxHlNIivOtDWnnh7TsFKYi0R0bLnamPIc1Kq3qztLXiN/s1600/sb.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIV2Ia6WiV_uasb7EyWLCPtuLAwzdhGNep2rJv-AwnH6YEekz_LVUfrbHJkhnHUPEzpPuV3k3I-hNuvLKweEqA8CLZB1xpSuTVhxHlNIivOtDWnnh7TsFKYi0R0bLnamPIc1Kq3qztLXiN/s1600/sb.png" height="320" width="263" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-47047059011016465762014-03-06T09:00:00.000-05:002014-03-06T09:00:08.337-05:00HOW I TRIED TO BE KIND by Michael Hemmingsona.<br />
I wanted to be kind but all I could achieve was cruelty. I wanted to be kind to the friend who had been dumped by a guy she thought she would marry and grow old with, only to realize all he wanted from her was sex; I acted concerned and hugged my friend and we got drunk and then I fucked her; she called me this other guy’s name the whole time and when she left, she never talked to me again because a month later she committed suicide, leaving a letter blaming that guy for destroying her soul. I couldn’t go to the funeral and mutual friends left me nasty text messages and emails. I sent flowers to the funeral parlor because that seemed like the kind thing to do. <br />
<br />
b.<br />
Her sister smeared dog shit on the windshield of my car. That was not a kind thing to do but I understood. <br />
<br />
c.<br />
I tried to be kind to a young woman who was jogging with her dog and the dog was hit by a car that sped off. I told her I could drive her and the dog to the vet and she yelled at me: “My dog is already dead, you goddamn jerk!” <br />
<br />
I did not understand this; I was trying to be a good person and she acted like it was my fault. I told her to fuck off. That was a kind thing to do because she would later meditate on why I said it and realize what she did wrong. She will never treat a stranger offering kindness like that again, should another dog of hers ever get killed by a car.<br />
<br />
d.<br />
A guy at work was in a jam. He was short on his rent by $210. His landlord was not happy that he always paid the rent late and told him he would be evicted if it happened again. I loaned him the $210. He promised to pay it back. A week later, he stopped coming to work and people said he had moved to a different state where rent was cheaper.<br />
<br />
e.<br />
There was a small island that was hit by both a hurricane and an earthquake the same week. Two-thirds of the 23,000 people who lived on the island had their homes destroyed and were living in Red Cross tents. I sent the Red Cross $100 through its website. <br />
<br />
The next morning I sent another $100 because I didn’t think the first was enough. <br />
<br />
f.<br />
There was a snail on the sidewalk. Someone had stepped on it: its shell crushed, green fluid oozing out like sap from a tree, eyestalks looking frantically about for safety. I stepped on it and killed it. <br />
<br />
That was the kind thing to do, like shooting, in the head, a horse with a broken leg.<br />
<br />
#<br /><br /><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Hemmingson">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Hemmingson</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-77643932108550649562014-03-05T09:00:00.000-05:002014-03-05T09:00:13.808-05:00WHY AM I RED? by mpcAstroBecause your peek<br />
a-boo<br />
elicits crime<br />
and punishment.<br />
<br />
And I am ashamed of<br />
my platitudes<br />
because<br />
<br />
that’s all that<br />
I have.<br />
<br />
#<br />
<br />
mpcAstro is the "user name" for Mike Castro, publisher of OpPRESS. His poem, "Why Am I red?," was written in his head to keep himself awake while driving home alone 3 AM from the downtown Tampa Hilton's opening night of FetishCon, which coincided with the hotel's separate event opening, Art of Kink, where he was showing his art prints with catalog, <i>Spider's Nest</i>, promoted by Oneiros Books with iambic footnotes, <i>Nidus Plexus</i>. Both sections are scheduled for reprint as two books by Spring 2014 under the Oneiros imprint.<br /><br />The poem is a red-faced cocktail of grief from love of the poet's life lost (only weeks prior), mixed with a pinch of shame and a dash of frustrated excitement for concocting all night into the wee hours (undelivered) lines to a bevy of fetishettes. The heart is a deep well.<br /><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/OpPLEXUS">https://www.facebook.com/OpPLEXUS</a><br /><a href="http://www.paraphiliamagazine.com/oneirosbooks/spiders-nest/">http://www.paraphiliamagazine.com/oneirosbooks/spiders-nest/</a><br /><a href="http://issuu.com/oppoet/docs/nidus_plexus_with_iambus_10-23-13">http://issuu.com/oppoet/docs/nidus_plexus_with_iambus_10-23-13</a><br /><br />As a first amends, the above issuu link's 20-page (107 thru 127) finalé dives into the ART Of KINK show while at the same time saving his love from drowning.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-81412001247357905242014-03-04T09:00:00.000-05:002014-03-04T09:00:00.740-05:00WILLIE JOE FROM COCOMO by Catfish McDarisWhile washing windows with<br />
a rag on an old rake handle &<br />
a long wide squeegee, I could<br />
not help but think of wild Willie<br />
<br />
The cat that taught me plenty,<br />
the correct mixture of vinegar<br />
& ammonia to add to the water<br />
<br />
Which rags were best, how to<br />
choose & slice the right rubber<br />
for a worn out squeegee edge<br />
<br />
How to do the maximum amount<br />
of work in the minimum of time,<br />
how & where to hide from the boss<br />
<br />
Willie always had a pint of rotgut<br />
& a dime bag of good weed, he<br />
never learned to roll a joint, so I<br />
put together our cowboy cigarettes<br />
<br />
After a doobie & half a pint, out<br />
would come the Polaroids of his<br />
new chick, all naked spread out<br />
on a bed, smiling like B.B. King<br />
<br />
Shots of him grinning, holding<br />
what looked like a huge black<br />
banana with lips all puckered up<br />
<br />
I’d make an ugly face & pretend to<br />
gag, he’d crack up laughing hard &<br />
we’d smoke again & finish the booze<br />
<br />
Then climb the ladders three stories<br />
up & make the windows so clean, the<br />
birds would commit suicide like in<br />
an Alfred Hitchcock movie.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896880721276046668.post-51591658831739477592014-03-03T09:00:00.000-05:002014-03-03T09:00:01.541-05:00DROWN by Melanie WhithausOnly a baby <br />when birthed from an egg<br />in a nest perked over salty water.<br /><br />She came from deep inside—<br />vomit.<br />I pushed her out of my throat,<br />unhatched and stillborn.<br /><br />Come now, my child;<br />Let the blood soak<br />through her<br />shell.<br /><br />Wake up—<br />suffocate—<br /><br />die again.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0