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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POP! POP! POP!
Part 8

Soon after I began living with Face, and soon after my run-in with Goth Girl, I cut off all my hair and an almost perfect thing happened—if perfect means surprising, and surprising means you cough your guts up over it.

I was standing dead drunk in front of our building one night, fumbling like a monkey for my keys, dropping them, getting down on my hands and knees, feeling around, getting up, falling...

So I lay there for a minute on the sidewalk.

Just a minute, that was the plan.

And the Honey Bucket Hooker marched by, bursting from her spandex, and said, "Oh shit, Samson, you cut off all your hair! You still ain't figured it out yet? You lost all your superpowers!"

Samson.

I laughed like a lunatic, at that. I got up and had to squint to see our names on the mailbox. I kept reaching, trying to press the intercom button on the gate.

It took a long time.

The Honey Bucket Hooker kept laughing.

It made a sound up there, where my girl was, then another sound, down where I was.


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Kurt EisenlohrKurt Eisenlohr is the author of the novel Meat Won't Pay My Light Bill (Future Tense Press). He has work forthcoming at Thieves Jargon and Horror Sleaze Trash. He lives in Portland, Oregon.