war president cut-up by Aimé Dontigny
war president cut-up
by Aimé Dontigny
From Vol. 3 No. 1, 2004
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The Ol’ Wm. Burroughs Cut-Up Routine Vince Tinguely
The Ol’ Wm. Burroughs Cut-Up Routine
by Vince Tinguely
From Vol. 3 No. 1, 2004
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Dialup Disenchantment, by Vivian Unger
Dialup Disenchantment
by Vivian Unger
from Vol. 2 No. 2, 2002
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ANARKISSED by Sherwin Tjia
ANARKISSED
a pseudohaiku
collection (40)
by sherwin tjia
From Vol. 2 No. 2, 2002
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Solitude, by S. Godin
Solitude, by S. Godin
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HOWDY NEIGHBOR Chris Burns
From Vol. 1 No. 6
I’m lying on my stomach on a sandy beach. I have one arm draped over my eyes because the sun is so strong it permeates through my closed lids. I lick my shoulder because I enjoy the salty taste of the sea and sweat. My crotch is pressed against the bumps in the sand and I suddenly have half a hard-on to handle. I’m deliberating whether it would be less conspicuous to lift up my ass, reach into my shorts and pull the sucker up (so that it can bulge any which way but loose) or flip myself over to relieve the pressure (in the hope that it will peter out but at the risk of it popping out and saluting my fellow vacationers) when a bell rings…
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you are a tea bag, my love Catherine Kidd
you are a tea bag, my love
From Vol. 1 No. 5, 1999
If there are certain calender days by which one might reasonably mark time “this time” please tell them to me now. Days, these days, have been scarcely differentiated from one another, like instant tea granules dissolved in water. Or again, like antiquated buttons tossed willy-nilly in a box. Please pick one now, and I will slip my pen into the buttonhole, start from there, draw constellations like a spyrograph. These atomic patterns need not make sense tomorrow. Only now, in order that I may position myself in this chair suspended in the air by piano-cables.
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(excerpt from Do Robot Pimps Dream of Electric Whores) By Heather O’Neill
By Heather O’Neill
From Vol. 1 No. 5, 1999
(inside the living room of Daddy’s cramped apartment.)
Daddy: You need some different clothes. You look like a motorcycle tramp with your
shirt pulled so tight over your belly like that. You should go to the drug store and see if they sell barbeque chip perfume, for that look. (more…)
Nevermind Green, by Jon Tucker
From Vol. 1 No. 5, 1999
Celebrating the tenth anniversary of his bar-mitzvah, Jerry Green sat alone on the balcony of his second story apartment wondering how the wind works. He had little to go on. The simple breeze moved through this mind casually, and Green realized that this subtle sweeping of thought was more of a nuisance than a nuance. He had no idea where the wind originated, and as far as he was concerned it was not much of his business. It was way too early for conceptual brainwork. (more…)
icebox night Golda Fried
icebox night
By Golda Fried
From Vol. 1 No. 1, 1996
Alley was looking at rings and was especially drawn to the one that could hold pills. It clung to her baby finger. I paced the floor of the store some, before she looked up. The mirror was a sliver in the corner. (more…)
greek vs porto
by Jason Gallagher
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HAPPY MEAL
by Alexis O’Hara
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