Guest Writers
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The Dinner
by chuck augello
We are both vegetarians
but that never stops us
from eating each other’s heart.
Hers is served in a light vodka creme sauce,
mine arrives without garnish.
We have dined on each other so many times,
it is a quick and joyless meal.
Where once we tenderized and basted
we now eat it raw,
with little conversation,
not even a “pass the salt.”
We reach across the table in silence
grabbing whatever we need
as if the other has already gone.
I am tired of this bloody meal,
but I keep eating as long as she does.
The day we said, “I do,”
we never dreamt we’d be such carnivores.
Editor @ May 15, 2008
Guest Writers
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outlet
by ramakrishnan parthasarathy
What follows this is bollocks. What actually follows is this. This time nothing followed. Followed what? I haven’t heard music in a year. I mean music in the way I used to. Now I don’t mean music. I mean business. My head tosses and turns. Tosses plus turns divided by two gives their mean. I am mean. A minimum of two. My pride has gone for a toss. What turns is for Abyssinia to ponder. And about a cogent analysis of subcutaneous breathing on my part.
I cut my hair today. Or rather the barber did. The barber was not named Rather. I don’t know the name but Rather was in CBS. Rather, he was employed by CBS. As to CNN, it is impossible for the CN group to link to Nitrogen. That’s why they had cable. I have no hopes. All the hopes I had went through the cable when I stopped hearing music. I never have had cable. Who pays for that shit? I once paid 50 paise to shit in the bus-stand of the city where I went to college. Actually twice. Once I had shit my pants. 50 paise translates to a penny and more here. Shit translates only to shit though. My neighboring blue collar scientist dipped his stained hand inside the tub where I had to wash my passage. I pulled my pants up. My passage was unwashed. May be later they did wash. The tub I mean. My passage is only for me to wash.
Ramakrishnan Parthasarathy @ May 14, 2008
Pat A Physics
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click image to see video
Instead of Blinking
by pat a physics
Nameless chickenman of my hallucination with your sunglasses on the sun, you are staring at us without a beak on your face. Your beak is the piece of chalk you used to give a lecture on how to grow a beak in order to seem more birdlike. Dividing beak cells were discussed in the chicken scratch on the blackboard, and you live with the screeching blackboard antics in your hut under the dustbin. Your habitat is not physically nurturing, nor is it mentally beneficial. Therefore you are an unhealthy lunatic. All day long, you hope for the cardboard boxes to race through your living space organizing things at an incredible rate. It never comes and you fake-peck the ground for a ghost worm which also is illusive. You never had a thing except for your detached beak and your self-pitying moan. On occasion, your sound lines up with the sound of footsteps in the room. It pulsates in erratic springs with the texture of a kazoo. Then, the empty boxes that people step around to avoid have been dealt with, and the music stops. When you have finished conducting the tap dancing, you start in with your lectures again. The terrible sound of your beak against the chalkboard makes glass shatter. Everyone’s glasses shatter in your no beak wearing face. Feathers are no longer clinging to your skin. You have plucked yourself clean long ago due to your nervous energy. The place where your eyes have sunk in to your skull is located in the exact same place as where your beak is supposed to go. Instead of blinking, you talk. When you are quiet, your mouth is shut and you are blind.
pat @ May 13, 2008
gene defcon
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Learning the Hard Way
by eugene gordon defcon
Who can fit a whip in their mouth
Besides a snake?
Not me
I learned that the hard way
On the set of Indiana Jones
The new one
They were filming a scene
(I was observing at close range)
Harrison Ford cracked his whip
At this guy playing your typical sinewy Nazi guard
But he misfired
The whole whip came straight for my face
I opened my mouth to scream
A gaping, raw-throated scream
Wide like the mouth of a snake
Or a river
But it ended up just coiling around my neck
In a kind of loose bolo-tie configuration
Like a long lazy spaghetti pet
Resting on his master’s shoulders
But the incident was very frightening all the same
So I went straight home
And with the help of some science buddies
A couple of computer programs
Three large pizzas
Some “study pills”
And a one-fifth size scale model of the movie lot
We determined that the whip wouldn’t have fit
Gene @ May 12, 2008