Five Poems 𝑏𝑦 Austin Miles

Futures Insectoid + Worm-like

the insects cannot cash

 

            as long as my screen is cracked

            + my battery is so trash

 

hellgrammites cannot either

            in this water

 

w/ tire + television     

            rusted

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Chapter X 𝑏𝑦 John T. Fowler

 

THE THREE GLASSES.

 

Was looking over a rubbish heap near a hotel. Saw three tumblers of dark-colored bottle-glass. Seeing they were not cracked, I thought they might be worth taking care of. As I was about to pick them up I was noticed by the landlord, who called to me that I had better not meddle with those three glasses; they had been used by a party of very dirty people and were more irredeemably befouled than I knew.

 

THE UNDERTAKER.

 

Was living in village, and in passing out of the door onto the sidewalk, stumbled against a neighbor who was passing. Knew him as an undertaker, Joseph Smith by name. Went into the back yard and had some talk with my mother about undertakers –– objected to being buried by a man named Joe Smith. Expected to need services of the kind in a few days. As I talked, I stood and combed down the nap of a shaggy cloak I had on with a coarse comb.

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Angelholic 𝑏𝑦 Yuya Sakurai

Angel-holic our killing MODE PARA:SITE attack resuming UROBOROS-like reptilian wreckage sodomy: puppet KARAKURI hallucinating fuckin’ Chinese 2020 ant wolf slaughter meme planet sperms deja-vu in Golden Street The hustle and bustle is infectious!? Misogynistic homeostasis REIGNITON the shagging cripple’s mg

GHOST IN THE SHELL 2049, Evangelion’s Kabukicho junkie “God does not exist yet,” “God will be born soon,” “the dead will be resurrected” Nihil Unbound, the ethics of extinction is OUTPUT to the angelic device in the style of protocol::0 extinction… Uber Eats: The ADAM Project.

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Angelphobia 𝑏𝑦 Yuya Sakurai

It was a hot day. The earth was in a frenzy. Here in Hue, the wings of an angel are about to open. That’s why the world was as pale as the white guards at the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum in Hanoi.

Anger is deposited in my body, and this howl is so suited to the Phước Tích firing kiln that I feel like throwing myself into the Hương River. The Angel’s horn has been blown. There’s no turning back now, adieu. Someone has said that we are unretrieved, unleashed, bursting, debauched, unrecovered by anything. That’s what it means to live this one-time-only life

Remember when we were walking together under cherry blossom trees? Here in Vietnam, we don’t see cherry blossoms. Instead, there are bougainvillea and dahlia trees. The rococo style imperial mausoleum of Emperor Khải Ðịnh is in such bad taste that it would be meaningless to tell you about it. I was there with you. I wish it were easier to forget.

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The Inherent Violence of Ancient Creatures 𝑏𝑦 William Tidwell

I
“It is common in the Orient to discover the inherent violence of ancient creatures,” said the narrator of a documentary. A woman struggled in a river at the bottom of a canyon. She remembered sleeping in a hotel with her grandmother, who was also sent to the river, but drowned. Giant jellyfish and squid groped at her dangling legs. The tremendous size of these fauna was common in the Orient, as opposed to the West, from where the woman originated. Time did not pass normally in this region. She described her supernal calm during this situation.

II
A philosopher and his poet friend went to a bordello. It was hexagonal and built into the wall of an underground city. The prostitutes were arranged in a circle of sarcophagi. The philosopher slid back one of the lids, revealing a flat stone surface with an embossment of the prostitute’s nervous system, and fell upon it. He ran his fingers along the nerves and laughed that this was all there is. His poet friend urged him to leave. He said the cops were coming and they needed to run. The philosopher couldn’t stop laughing. Later, it was heard the philosopher had disfigured his lover’s face with a hammer and disappeared.

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I Heard It On The Radio by Anthony Dragonetti

I.

It was like I heard it on the radio. Who listens to the radio anymore? You know what I mean. Except it wasn’t the radio. I must have been dreaming. In the dream, I was startled awake when I heard it on the radio. A voice said before you were born, in the beginning, God held you in His arms and stamped you with Fear.

That Fear hung in the air between them for a moment. The ragged looking man looked at him waiting for a reaction. He hadn’t decided yet what kind to give.

Do you get it? You’ll lose everything. Are you understanding what I’m telling you, the man said. I’m reminding you of something you already know. I don’t think you know that you know.

He decided to be politely shocked and interested in the information he was being given by this man.

Yes, sir. That’s totally right. It’s rough out there. From the moment we’re born, he said. You gotta just keep your eyes peeled, you know? Take care of yourself.

He started walking away from the man who moved to follow then stopped after a couple of steps like something was in the way.

I’m warning you. It’s on your soul. I know what happens to you at night.

The man kept ranting, but he didn’t look back. He heard the man yell one last thing before he disappeared around the corner to get on the escalator.

You hear it, too. You hear it, too.

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GOD CHOSE VIOLENCE IN EVERY PART OF HIS DESIGN by Paris Green

ALL NIGHTBITCH KNOWS IS HOW TO HATE A MOTHERFUCKER. SHE LEARNED IT AT WHATEVER SHE SUCKLED AT INSTEAD OF A TITTY. GNASHED BY HUGE PACKS OF DOG-WOLF HYBRIDS EVERY SINGLE DAY IN A SPECIAL BOOT CAMP TO BUILD UP MITHRIDATIC IMMUNITY TO CRUSHING, PIERCING, GRINDING WEAPONS. HER INSTRUCTOR AT THE BOOT CAMP WAS A WOLF-DOG HYBRID. SHE LEARNED THEIR LANGUAGE AND MASTERED THEIR COMBAT STYLE INSTANTLY. SHE HAS NO FURTHER USE FOR ANYTHING ON FOUR LEGS.

HER WEAK POINTS ARE ALL COVERED IN THE LATEST ARMOR. DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT. PRISMATIC BLADES RING HER MAJOR ARTERIES WITH EXTRA FALSIE BLADES FOR ARTERIES SHE DOESN’T NEED ANYMORE. YOU BETTER BELIEVE HER DICK IS A DEADLY WEAPON. SPECIAL MODIFICATIONS ALLOW HER TO BIOGENERATE SABOT AND FLECHETTE CUM, EASILY CAPABLE OF DEFEATING UP TO 5CM THICK CERAMIC PLATE ARMOR. IT GIVES HER CONFIDENCE BUT SHE CAN NEVER KNOW A LOVER’S TOUCH. NO SWEAT TO NIGHTBITCH.

NIGHTBITCH IS DEPLOYED IN THE DAYTONA FLESH RIPPING ZONE, HOME OF THE DAYTONA FLESH RIPPERS, HOME OF THE LIVING SHAFTS OF GOD’S RANCID LIGHT, HOME OF THE ECTOPRESENCE, HOME OF THE DAYTONA VIRAL SENTIENCE. WALMART AFTER WALMART AFTER WALMART, EACH EQUIPPED WITH TWO FULLY FUNCTIONAL REANIMATOR CENOTAPHS. SHE STOPS FOR A CIGARETTE AND SLAPS FRESH FLESH ONTO HER BONES TO REPLACE THE PARTS FLYING KNIVES OR THE FLESH RIPPERS PEELED OFF.

NIGHTBITCH: TELL ME ABOUT THE LIGHT GUYS, CONTROL
CONTROL: NO GOOD… PRESIDENT SAYS WE CAN’T TORTURE ‘EM
NIGHTBITCH: FUCKING PUSSIES
CONTROL: PRESIDENT SAYS IT’S PHYSICALLY IMPOSSIBLE. SAYS ALL THEY FEEL IS PLEASURE ALL THE TIME
NIGHTBITCH: FUCKING PUSSIES

TIME DILATION SETS IN AND PERMANIGHT GETS DARKER… SOMETHING IS STIRRING OVER IN SPORTING GOODS ALPHA, DEEP IN WALMART 7. NIGHTBITCH STUBS OUT HER CIGARETTE ON HER BIONIC TONGUE. INTEGRATED RAZORS CUT THE ASHES INTO THEIR COMPONENT MOLECULES TO AID DIGESTION.

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Thunder And Roses: A Cold War Staging (after Theodore Sturgeon) 𝑏𝑦 Johannes Göransson

1. BACKGROUND
This summer has a machine gun soundtrack, and the perfume is almond. Everywhere smells like almond. Especially the bodies, especially the bodies that have been gunned down in their insane spasmatic freakouts. Their blood smells like almonds. The holes smell like almonds. The pearls we call flowers smell like almonds. The eggs we find beneath our beds sometimes in the middle of the night smell like almonds. The president’s voice when he tells us of the latest victories smells like almond. The potatoes that we eat and the shards we use to eat them smell like almonds. But the doves taxidermied in the auditorium don’t smell like anything at all.

I dream about the doves in my good dreams and I dream about the doves in my bad dreams. In my good dreams I never left Saltville, never saw the sea, just sat inside a room and listened to Starr Anthim on the radio. Listen to her sings “When You Gave Me your Heart, You Gave Me the World” and “I Drank the Dawn” and “My Song was Brook and Lark.” In my good dreams there is thunder and lightning outside. But my good dreams so often turn bad when I leave the house in Saltville. When I leave the house I see my friends with their guns in their hands and they sing the songs “Give Me Your Heart” and “Make the World Go Away” and “My Song is My Gun” and “I’m Strong” and then they go after the doves. And then I have no room. Or the room buzzes in an eel-like darkness. Or I go searching for Starr and sometimes I find her and sometimes I don’t. In the bad dreams I find her in my room with a kind of almond paste on her. Or I don’t find her in the room but she finds me and I have doves on me. I have eaten them.

Last night I went back to the traintracks outside of Saltville where I found the flowers, the flowers that were here before us. I tried to remember how they smelled, but all I smelled was almond. I hid in the flowers so that the men from the army would not find me but they found me even in my dream. They used an eel and a hammer. They used the dove with the eyelashes and the grandfather-clock-looking instrument and they took gladioli out of it. As they loaded me into the bus I saw a figure with some kind of wrinkled mask move at the edge of the field and the men said that’s Starr Anthim.

This is how I knew Star Anthim would come to the base today. How I knew she would perform for us.

 

2.MIS-EN-SCENE
The mis-en-scene is themed by fantasies from the 1950s about your mother and decay. The eel seems to be alive at Starr’s feet, the roses are made of x-rays. Scattered decay products look limber, soft. The light is light blue, the lame crinkles when Starr moves. The angiosperms seem to be in the hundreds at her feet. The metallic ornaments seem to come from Triassic Period, the extinction features is what they are called. Is what your mother calls them when you dream about home. You can think of this stage as a mother seen through the eye of a hypodermic needle. You can think of the stage as a threat. It’s a threat against me: If we must destroy, lets destroy ourselves.

 

Continue Reading Thunder And Roses: A Cold War Staging (after Theodore Sturgeon) 𝑏𝑦 Johannes Göransson

conglomerationofgoodthings 𝑏𝑦 Marston Hefner

That one time Nancy slipped me her five cent token under her bra lace sneakers and I stole a glance at her as if like, whaaaaaaaaaat?

The second time Nancy snuck her bra lace sneakers into the tent grounds and snuck back with the only pair of sneakers left from the campground and that was when we were all like, whaaaaaaaaat?

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Once one upon a time a romance was started online between two writers and though they were neither bitter nor sweet the romance did not last. But the colors were will. The reds and hues of blue brought further from their minds. The imaginations and books read and made.

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I one once upon a time read well studious a woman who had a chance at making herself known, with her front face forward living a cartographer did make her blessed face known in the snow. The snow a harder color colder time then the one made before like an everlasting fall came forward in the winter snow.

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If I proliferated the lie that the author was mean that would be in my best interest then to apologize and not be called a         . I am very sorry. The one who wanted to work hard for her work was only inside my place and the effort was expelled great and hard breaths made. Between. Holy and hard breaths made toward finishing the work in front of our faces. A long project not just us but of many books yet to be written.

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The travesty of the son.

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A woman who requires all of your attention I keep out of mind. Before day the than better.

A followed further true. The forward motioning made itself further from what it was, true. A calm and sensitive man. A former individual joined a group and I made myself heard and heard myself made. The forward movement. The long lengthening of a wait. I’ve wanted to roam further in the woods. The woods were made deeper. The deeper the woods were made. Deeper made were woods. A closeted individual. I have many close friends. I am a closeted individual.

I am making myself a controlled substance. Are you making a controlled substance? The many who wanted a world in themselves. The many wishing a world wanting. I am waiting for a controlled experiment. A controlled experiment fixed to a substance. Focus on the sentence this one now. I am a dangerous individual. That was good, now say it so they believe you. Individual dangerous am I waves made. The logic made itself known.

Continue Reading conglomerationofgoodthings 𝑏𝑦 Marston Hefner