Unlikely 2.0


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Editors' Notes

Maria Damon and Michelle Greenblatt
Jim Leftwich and Michelle Greenblatt
Sheila E. Murphy and Michelle Greenblatt

A Visual Conversation on Michelle Greenblatt's ASHES AND SEEDS with Stephen Harrison, Monika Mori | MOO, Jonathan Penton and Michelle Greenblatt

Letters for Michelle: with work by Jukka-Pekka Kervinen, Jeffrey Side, Larry Goodell, mark hartenbach, Charles J. Butler, Alexandria Bryan and Brian Kovich

Visual Poetry by Reed Altemus
Poetry by Glen Armstrong
Poetry by Lana Bella
A Eulogic Poem by John M. Bennett
Elegic Poetry by John M. Bennett
Poetry by Wendy Taylor Carlisle
A Eulogy by Vincent A. Cellucci
Poetry by Vincent A. Cellucci
Poetry by Joel Chace
A Spoken Word Poem and Visual Art by K.R. Copeland
A Eulogy by Alan Fyfe
Poetry by Win Harms
Poetry by Carolyn Hembree
Poetry by Cindy Hochman
A Eulogy by Steffen Horstmann
A Eulogic Poem by Dylan Krieger
An Elegic Poem by Dylan Krieger
Visual Art by Donna Kuhn
Poetry by Louise Landes Levi
Poetry by Jim Lineberger
Poetry by Dennis Mahagin
Poetry by Peter Marra
A Eulogy by Frankie Metro
A Song by Alexis Moon and Jonathan Penton
Poetry by Jay Passer
A Eulogy by Jonathan Penton
Visual Poetry by Anne Elezabeth Pluto and Bryson Dean-Gauthier
Visual Art by Marthe Reed
A Eulogy by Gabriel Ricard
Poetry by Alison Ross
A Short Movie by Bernd Sauermann
Poetry by Christopher Shipman
A Spoken Word Poem by Larissa Shmailo
A Eulogic Poem by Jay Sizemore
Elegic Poetry by Jay Sizemore
Poetry by Felino A. Soriano
Visual Art by Jamie Stoneman
Poetry by Ray Succre
Poetry by Yuriy Tarnawsky
A Song by Marc Vincenz


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The Mystery of the Monkey's Heart
by Norman A. Rubin

It is related that there was in the passage of the age, as written in Indian lore, a mystic god with the saintly name of Kshatriya. The radiant deity came to life at the foot of the stately Himalayan Mountains as a monkey. He grew to hardihood, strong and sturdy, and wise in thought.

The monkey god made his abode by the curve of the river Ganges. It was in the dense jungle at the foot of the mountains. There he instructed his followers in the good and just ways of life.

The deity, with his heavenly powers, protected his loyal followers from harm's way. And, at times, he liberated them from their enemies.

He often travelled the paths of the jungle. He had the knowledge of the trails through dense woodlands. Thus he was able to guide and assist travellers to find the right trail to their destination.

Now at that time there was a nasty crocodile dwelling in the waters near where Kshatriya had his place of rest. Through the years, the reptile managed to avoid interfering into the peaceful life of the monkey god. They kept apart, each staying in their own territory.

But the crocodile's mate, a sluggish and nagging reptile, only saw the great body of the monkey god in the greed of her eyes.

In the passing of time she conceived a deep longing to eat its heart. She was never satisfied with her lot, always yearning, always dreaming of being the great god queen of the jungle.

So she said craftily to her mate, "My good husband, I desire to eat the heart of that great god king of a monkey. In this way I will possess his great power." She then roared in joyous exclamation on the thought of queendom.

"Good wife," mused the crocodile as he tried to avoid her request, "We swim in the waters and he walks on dry land. Now, my dear, how on earth can we catch him and take his heart?"

"By hook or by crook," she sniffled and nagged in her reply, "Ooh, he must be caught by all means. If I don't get his mystic heart, I think I surely will die!"

"All right, all right!" grumbled the crocodile. Then in soothing words he tried to console his nagging spouse, "Don't trouble yourself in such a fit. I will think of a plan to snare Kshatryia. Don't worry my lovely I will give you his heart to eat!"

Days passed and the crocodile kept a sharp watch over the movements of Kshatryia. So, one fine day when the monkey god was sitting restfully on the banks of the flowing Benares River, the crocodile swam near him.

The in a sweet voice the crafty reptile called to the monkey. "My lord, why do you live here and live on the poor crop of fruit in this old familiar place? Why, on the other side of the river there is no end of mango, date and papaya groves with trees filled with ripe fruit, sweet as honey. You would be able to fill your belly to full."

"My dear crocodile, your offer is quite tempting," the monkey god answered to the call. "But the river is quite deep and wide. How shall I get across to the other side?"

"Quite simple!" chortled the reptile. "If you really want to go to the other side and enjoy the delicious fruits, all you have to do is to sit on my back. Then I will carry you over to the other side."

Kshatriya had the trust of all the animals in the jungle, so there was no reason not to accept the crocodile's persuasive words. Without a moment of thought he agreed to the reptile's offer. Besides, the fruit on his side was rather overripe and not so tasty.

"Come closer to the water. That's it!" said the crocodile as he smacked his lips secretly when he neared the banks. And the monkey god climbed on his scaley back. But when the crocodile had swum part of the way, he slowly plunged into the depth of the water.

The monkey god called out to him before the water covered him. He cried out plaintively, "Good friend, you will drown me! What is it for?"

"You thought that I am carrying you out of pure good nature?" growled the crocodile, "No siree! My good woman has a longing for your heart and all of its mighty powers. I promised that I will give it to her to eat. A promise that must be fulfilled or she will surely die."

"Oh, my dear friend," answered Kshatriya, "It is rather decent of you to tell me. But there is one problem to your quest. Why, if my heart was inside me it surely would break into small pieces when I go jumping among the tree tops and swing on the leafy branches."

The reptile was puzzled by this supposition and he rose once again on the surface of the river, much to the relief of Kshatriya. The crocodile snorted spouts of water from his long snout as he put his dim-witted brain to thought.

"Well, where do you keep your heart when you are swinging through the trees in the jungle?" grumbled the beast.

The monkey stood on his toes and pointed a finger at a snarled fig tree with a cluster of dried fruit. It was standing not so far on his side of the river. The reptile twisted his sight to the pointed finger and then to the fig tree.

"I can't see your heart through the leafy branches from the river. But if you promise to show it to me, I will guarantee, on my word, that I will not carry you into the deep waters." growled the crocodile.

"Take me to the bank of the river and then I will be able to climb the fig tree. There, on one of the branches, I will be able to show you my heart."

Well, the crocodile had no choice as he wanted the heart. He paddled swiftly to the bank of the river. Before he had a chance to ask for the direction of the beating organ, the monkey god jumped quickly off its back. Kshatriya climbed to the topmost branch and sat upon it. Then he revealed himself as a courageous and fierce deity.

"Ooh you foolish reptile," he cried out, "You thought that there were creatures that kept their hearts in treetops! You are more than an foolish idiot but a dim-witted beast to let me outwit you. Your body is great, but your brain is pea-size."

And Kshatryia, the monkey god, uttered the following verse...

"Great is your body, verily, but how much smaller is your wit!
Now go your ways, Sir Crocodile, for I have the best of it."

"No, I will not loose my thunderbolt upon you. I will let you swim back to your everbeloved nag of a wife. Let her fiery words charge you with bolts of endless clamor of her wagging tongue. Remember my dim-witted friend, that what you and your mate really value, is what you miss, not what you have. Creatures, like yourselves that are not satisfied with their lot, but only dream and wish for the impossible."

The crocodile, feeling as sad and quite miserable as if he lost the last piece of fruit from the ripening groves, went back sorrowfully to the muddy den he shared with his spouse. All the time grumbling to himself as he thought of an excuse to his dearie for his failure to bring the monkey's heart for her to eat.


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Norman A. Rubin of Afula, Israel is a former correspondent for the Continental News Service, USA. He's written on Near East culture and crafts, archaeology, history and politics; religious history and rites, etc. He's been featured in publications world wide - Jerusalem Post, Israel - Coin News, Minerva, Oriental Arts, etc. England - Ararat, Letter Arts Review, Archaeology, etc. USA - Spotlight, Japan - International B, Hong Kong. He's been a freelance writer for the past sixteen years of short stories of all genres - mystery, horror, humour, sexual customs, etc.