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The Prize
by Tantra Bensko, January 2008
"What is it about recording 13 dreams in one night that sends magnetic waves out from the center of You? They pulse roundly, returning, a dark blue sense of sound. What is it about the center dream, the 7th dream that creates the others? Time pulses forwards and backwards from each moment, hits what's there, adds to what's there, and bounces back with information to the present, recreating it."
Thieves
by Pat King, January 2008
"Judith and William had been together for four years. They were married the summer after high school. One day, she just left. She brought a few changes of clothes and slept on my couch. At first, William called nearly every day. But Judith wouldn't talk to him. Instead, he talked to me."
Kevin Bacon and the Liquid Zoo
by Luis Rivas, January 2008
"Cherry used to be a prostitute. She isn't anymore. No one knows why. She doesn't talk about it. A majority of her clientele were black men. Her big, fat ass made her very sought after. Cherry is a recovering meth addict and alcoholic. Cherry is HIV Positive."
Jehovah Love Bunny
by Paul Corman-Roberts, January 2008
"But the Jehovah's earned my respect years ago by not willing to stop at the sidewalk, but instead to bring their vending booth right into my house. Hell, I'd let them in, offer them coffee or tea, sit down at the table and seriously discuss scripture with them for about ten minutes before breaking out a Death's head bong, taking a rip, and shot-gunning it back out in their direction."
Chickenheard and Fishboy
by Leah Erickson, January 2008
"So she was painting the trees that day, grapey purple, a blazing orange. I was at the kitchen table reading the Tibetan Book of the Dead. That's when they came.
An unmarked government van pulled up. Two men came out wearing jumpsuits covered in patches. They looked like race car drivers, only the patches had names of prescription drugs on them. Things like Zovirax, Nimotop, and Cyclogyl.
Orgulho
by James Chaffee, January 2008
"I asked for Matt but the men waved me off. I watched with them as the pink-nosed, mottled dog came in low with a sudden lunge for the dark brute's neck and locked on. With a fast head toss it pulled back with a mouthful of flesh. The other dog's head lolled to one side. It tried to stand but followed its head into the spreading pool of its own blood."
The Journal of a North American Artifact
by Jon Rentler, December 2007
'The breath was caught in a moment. Their ears rung. The wind stuttered. The atmosphere flickered. But back to their drinks and dates when they can swallow again with their lungs inflating, a slurred pout-lipped youth mutters, "This place doesn't fit right." Curling his hands up in his coat sleeves. I slept beside them sound and safe across the sea. I slept through our end.'
port of the lost and found
by Ray Brown, December 2007
"a revelation at dusk with the rhythms of the shadows and the middle-class families looking for refuge. the outrageous becomes the every day. you never see the same thing twice. the fleeting flowers of neon and dingy formulas open wide the gaps of meaning. the circus is in full form. the faces of plastic happiness and the cold struggle change and shift, as tourists flock to the disturbed excitement."
Sequels
by Howard Waldman, December 2007
"That happened to me last year. No sequels you could see except maybe the way I was shivering at 105 degrees, like I had a ton if ice in my belly and chest. But I wasn't going to spoil him with that story."
Winter Kills
by Kyle Hemmings, December 2007
"I had worked as an audio engineer in Chelsea, where she recorded demos. That was before she decided to trash her career and her life. I fell hard in love with Martha and wanted to save both. Maybe she reminded me of myself before rehab. Now days, I can't even save myself. Maybe it's what we both want. To be a player in each other's destruction."
The Preview Customer
by Luis Rivas, December 2007
"The night's warm with a soft wind that's drying the water on his hands. The palm trees sway lightly with the breeze, their branches making scratching noises as they rub up against each other. He walks up to Delano St, makes a right and puts his hands in his pockets. He feels the soft, squishing of his wet underwear in his front left pocket. He immediately pulls out his hands as if he had just touched a piping hot plate."
The Phantom from the Looking Glass
by Norman A Rubin, November 2007
"I left the hospital being careful not to let anyone see me standing before any shop windows or mirrors along the streets, in the cafes, or the shop fronts. People are easily surprised; you know, especially when they see a person without his image on a storefront glass. They would want to know why and how, and then I should have to explain."
Modern Art or Living with a Number
by Tsipi Keller, November 2007
"He, too, had lived with a number, a blue one, tattooed on his arm. A free tattoo, he liked to shout, and German-made, no less! She loved her uncle, her mother's brother, he was irreverent, he was different, he never married; in many ways he was like her, or she was like him, or, more like him than like her parents who had cherished convention and security more than anything, if only for her sake."
Performance Piece
by Jim Chaffee, November 2007
"After shooting, I searched the computer records for Miss Stolle and found that she had bought two handguns from us, a small caliber for target practice and a .38 special, likely the weapon she carried on her person. A good choice for personal defense. I wondered if she could use it. I found where she had trained and also found her home and work addresses, part of the application information."
The Conversion of Asoka
by Iftekhar Sayeed, November 2007
'"Because we've sold ourselves. People who sell themselves can have no dignity, no decency, no humanity." Another draught banged the door against the wall, so I had to stop speaking. There was only the darkness, and the rain, and our voices. "Slaves do not even have the right to demand an explanation. They live in an inscrutable universe, which owes them nothing."'
an excerpt from transeXotica
by Peter Magliocco, November 2007
'"I've never meant anything more in my life," she said with a faint muskiness, her virtually superb breasts — with each roseate aureole of tit tilting above and beyond — trembling not three feet from my famished face. "O my soldier," she crooned, "my fierce, benevolent darling. Let me rivet you to this chair," she laughed abruptly, with magical flair.'
New Romantic Age
by AE Reiff, June 2007
'"Conquer minds and heart will follow," said TR, but epidemic romance contradicted that. Neighborhoods began to chat. Children played openly in yards as the menace dire turned out to be liar and the army left the road. Thieves went to work, of which there was plenty since philanthropists were hiring sorties to take them to the unknown parts of town where they could give away their money. I guess you read about it in the paper.'
Pulp Friction
by The Poet Spiel, June 2007
"Mr. Fred Warren will manhandle her by the shoulders, then throw her out onto the street to whimper and beg. He will stand red-faced, right out in public, right in front of those huge, humiliating, revolving glass doors where she got her slip caught once, and he will shout out her name, then shame her in front of Bessie and Emmy and Mim and all the hungry breakfast customers across the street at Burger King."
an excerpt from Anti-Christ: A Satirical End of Days
by Matthew Moses, June 2007
'The Pope slapped him across the face, his hand pushing the bishop to the ground. The bishop lay there stunned at the blow he received. The Pope looked up at the chaos that surrounded him. "I need some communion wine," he muttered as he walked off, away from the mess that abounded.'
The Bondi Caveman
by Leo Lichy, June 2007
"I have never been able to achieve any pleasant level of popularity. Foul, forgettable, phony — these are the labels attached to me. The harder I try to attain respect, the more vociferous the remarks against me. Take my West End play, The Importance of Good Street Etiquette, for example —"
Homeless Experience
by Brandon Gorrell, June 2007
"The man thought of this possibility. He thought of other possibilities too. Another possibility he thought of was that the spire was a public lookout. A place built by the people, that all could have a sense of security provided by a place to watch over their possessions. To make sure there was no otherworldly army marching toward them, or no meteor coming in from outer space, or no atomic bomb detonating in a neighboring city."
The Smallest Man in the World
by Ulf Cronquist, May 2007
'"We must hurry," she said, "Orlando is waiting." Orlando referred to Professor Fir, but his first name had never been uttered before at the Department. He wondered why they would be expected. "You should not mingle with those girls," said the woman in black, "they cannot think." "Well," he said, "they are referred to as the three witches at the department." She laughed a very loud staccato laugh...'
Beginnings
by DB Cox, May 2007
'As soon as we're inside, I start the engine and turn on the windshield wipers. When I glance in the rearview mirror, I catch a quick look at the man's face as he lights a cigarette. For a split-second, something flashes through my brain. Fear? Dread? My grandfather used to say, "like someone walking on your grave." I also notice a tattoo on the back of his hand—I can't quite make it out. It looks like some kind of animal.'
Rainbows End
by Simon Friel, May 2007
"Niente moved only between the house, the garden and the well. He never once thought to try and stretch the boundaries of his world and walk beyond the nothingness that surrounded him. He was, without any actual formal appreciation of the feeling, content with what he had."
Painting Pollock
by Joel Van Noord, May 2007
"She's moved from the Valley and has a penthouse in Santa Monica. I have a subscription and stare for hours at glossy images of her legs and feet and hair falling from her shoulder and that beautiful cleft that was always so gritty when I had it. It's been perfected and bound."
Pigs Make the Bacons
by Gordon Torcello, May 2007
"Snowball was dead, or missing. The other pigs were growing hands and toes, things that could pick up something as delicate as a pen. We saw them all eating, gorging themselves on meat and cream and vegetables out of season—things that had never come from our farm. Coffee, liquor, cigarettes; these things they grasped in their new born fingers and hands."
"Books" and "The Ghosted Darkness"
by George Sparling, April 2007
"Yet, I was his token WASP, since most of Marv's friends were Irish, and not the hyphenated kind, either. He used to move tons of rock back in Ireland during his formative years. That seemed the leitmotif running through his conversations. Marv's crooked spine attested to the pain of the real Irish life. He subdued pain by smoking mass quantities of high-THC weed."
Broken Glass in the Sauce
by Kurtice Kucheman, April 2007
"I was drunk, coming off a bad end relationship with a heroin addict. I was slamming down shots of Maker's Mark, and smoking opium out of a small green waterbong. I had called the suicide hotline earlier, and they had hung up on me after I made sexual advances towards the woman counseling me."
Palast der Republik
by Paul Murphy, April 2007
"Now they must destroy the Palast der Republik, a reminder that the old society was once new, for who wants such a reminder? Out with the new old and in with the new old new. They say that 'some people want to back to that'. (the new old) Perhaps it is the one in five Berliners who are currently unemployed, wearing rags or hand-me-downs."
The Vegetarian Inquisition
by Jon Alan Carroll, April 2007
"He'd crossed the line, there was no defense. For some crimes, there can be no forgiveness. Ty could feel all the steak and chops and meatloaf he'd ever eaten sitting there in his veins, waiting for the day they'd send him to the boneyard."
The Sheep
by Luis Rivas, April 2007
"The clerk looked at the girl from behind the counter, at her brown purposeful eyes, her loose fitting white shirt that hid her small braless tits and accentuated her dark brown nipples, her nervous shaking hands that hung by her sides. She smiled awkwardly, her face contorting and making her look ugly -- which she was not. She was neither ugly nor beautiful in the typical sense of the word..."
Three I Ching Hexagrams
by Lily Hoang, April 2007
"Mother & Father being good Catholic martyrs & Mother & Father going to church every Sunday & Father building pieces of church in our backyard & Father back then with hands so strong & even now that Father is weak Father still building with numb fingers & Mother & Father both sick & Mother with cancer eating & shitting & Father walking slowly & they are guilty of many things but sickness still inside them & they're innocent of many things & sickness remains inside"
Murder in Utopia
by Tala Bar, March 2007
"When it was over, I went outside. The air was clear and sharp, I thought the stars were mocking me... I walked about for a very long time, round and round that peak; I could have fallen over the cliff myself that night, but I didn't. Then the moon rose, and I saw that silhouette, a dark figure crouching at the edge of the cliff. I came near it – it was That Man; he did not notice me, probably engrossed in some new ideas for a poem... It was so easy..."
Diet
by Paul Kavanagh, March 2007
"With audacity, with a pinch of boldness and if need be a lashings of lies, he knew how to handle the bill. With balderdash, he would answer the questions of the undercover cop. His belly with opprobrium growled obstreperously. One of Giacometti's walking men. He felt like a Greek kouros, nay, skin and bones was all he was. Langden wished that he had covered his torso."
Maoists Don't Make Puppets
by Randy Lowens, March 2007
At last Henry's group reached the locus of the staging area and laid the puppet down. Henry noted with chagrin that his fellows seemed none the worse for the march. They, too, had been beaten by police at a recent sit-in, on the floor of a military recruiter's office. Although Henry could argue that his head wound had been the most grievous, still he was peeved at being so spent, and silently vowed to drink less and exercise more.
The Dentist
by Jessica Schneider, March 2007
'"It's Gretchen," she reminded me. And I only wanted to remind her that I was only kidding, and that laughing gas would have done the trick. But before I could object, she downed the shot in one single swig, leaning her sensuous, soft neck backwards, as I watched the tequila go down her smooth esophagus.'
"Borg Shards," "Blood of the Savior," and "Chez Quiet Desperation"
by John Bennett, March 2007
'A mother with an angel of a daughter no older than four just walked past my car.
"Mommy, why is that man sitting in that hot car smoking cigarettes?" she asked.
"Hush, Grace," said her mother.
I thought it was a fair question.'
Offerings
curated by Holly Crawford, ongoing, released here January 2007
Offerings is a dynamic and ever-growing project curated by Holly Crawford that presents art at its most basic: a form of communication, a social exercise, "owned" by no one. It is constantly updated on Holly Crawford's web site and embedded here, and will continue to expand over time.
Missing
by Martha L. Deed, January 2007
"I've been working on the aftermath of a 1998 murder in western New York that has affected an unusually large number of people and tested the criminal justice system to its limits. Originally, I thought I would write a book, but as I worked my way through the materials made available to me, I realized that I had something quite special, quite powerful, and that 'the story' cried out for multimedia web presentation.
I STALKED MARTHA STEWART!
a novella by Vernon Frazer, January 2007
"Inside the covers of each of the books comprising our display of Martha Stewart's new bestseller, Own the World Through Good Taste, public relations coordinator Norexia Pruinn found a poem riddled with obscene, pornographic and other objectionable material that violates our Family Values policy written by the disturbed and disgruntled Avery Blank, a failed poet known for his outspoken rudeness."
