tNY.Press

AREA WOMAN HAS VARIOUS HOUSEHOLD CONCERNS

Area woman has various household concerns. Area woman unable to have sex with husband for nine years. Area woman says home is rotting beneath her feet. Area woman reported as missing. Area woman found out of state. Area woman charged with throwing saw at husband. Area woman accuses husband of assault. Area woman puts career goals on hold. Area woman wakes up to find man in her room. Area woman airlifted to hospital after self-inflicted gunshot wound during a domestic dispute. Area woman recovers after a frightening ordeal. Area woman returns home. Area woman thought to be in danger. Area woman still missing months later. Area woman found dismembered and in suitcases. Area woman found safe.

 Language adapted from news headlines beginning with the term “area woman.”

Such a Tongue Twister! 

Art by David de las Heras

Say it 3 times as fast as you can;

 Your mouth will be a garbage can: 

It’s such short grass. It’s shutch short grass. Itch shut short grats. Aw, shit.

The Friendship

This woman said to me, Give me your son, that we may eat him today, and we will eat my son tomorrow. So we boiled my son and ate him. And the next day, I said to her, Give your son, that we may eat him. But she has already eaten her son.

Bone picker 

Art by Ryan Reynolds

A dishwasher at 14, I had enough dough to afford a burn or two before work. Toked up & drowned the lout kitchen fans by the faucet waterfall, static in the green light which also carried me beyond Hiroko’s echoed voice—the head-waitress overbearing. She had a warm violet smile on her plump cheek, her outlook on life reflecting this old Japanese sararīmann’s laser beam eyes after I took his order in Japanese. My Japanese face had shrunk & became half his size, my brain boiling like hot milk & a velvet cream crusting the top. He didn’t give me the green light. I did a pinwheel circle on the monkey bars while it was snowing outside. My eyes shut frozen & I really couldn’t make out the color 

of light. 

At staff dinner, the ceiling light was yellow & was reflecting our moon desire. The fish being served caged a constellation of bone. Father, a religious vegetarian, denied me of letting my heart out my rib cage, so I picked at the bones with fingers. Hiroko chuckled. The extension of self through her chopsticks, Hiroko’s distorted star galaxy. My face disappearing into a white light.

ironbound: irony in the flesh

“ironbound – a blog is a love letter to the place where I grew up, and the account of my heartbreak at moving beyond it. [It] was written long before I left the Ironbound, and in hindsight I wonder if, even back then, I was trying to justify to myself the decision I had already made.  [This is part of] a larger experimental work comprised of 72 scenes that are formatted to resemble entries in a blog. The full work is addressed to a personified version of the neighborhood where I grew up.”

… 14

you came to see me yesterday. snuck up on me asking, what are you reading? i looked up from the paperback and found you between me and the sun.

you sat down and slapped my thigh like an old friend. said, i’m tired of this city.

still looking at you i responded, “what can she be, being what she is?”

is that one of yours, you asked.

william butler, i started,  but you didn’t let me finish. started going off about all the corruption, the violence, the kids in a rush to grow up.

she doesn’t make sense to me anymore, you added. she isn’t the same. she’s not home anymore. and all i could think was how ironic this was. you, next to me, telling me how she isn’t the same anymore and yet you in love.

you continued to speak but i was lost in the thoughts your words arose in me. at times i have read of stories that come after other stories, only those earlier stories weren’t told because there wasn’t that much to say. so i understand that perhaps i stretch you too thin. after all, i witnessed as you yourself did it just yesterday, sitting next to me in the afternoon sun going on and on about her.

but bearing all of you, isn’t that how i loved you best? isn’t that how we all love best, taking the very small and making it into a world, a dream, the universe?

Four Notable Presidential Moments in Photographic History

– 1843 – 

John Quincy Adams becomes the first president to have his picture taken. The new technology frightens and depresses him immediately. His assistants place the camera in his lap in an effort to ease his anxiety, and through his tears, Adams strokes the device and attempts to speak to it. Eventually, he is calmed down long enough for the photograph to be taken, but the trauma of the event will stay with him for the rest of his life. 

– 1898 – 

William McKinley becomes the first president to own and regularly operate a handheld camera. He shows little interest in human subject matter, preferring instead to shoot objects such as empty chairs, curtained windows, and bathroom fixtures throughout the white house. At an exhibition of his work in 1972, the photos are referred to by critic Susan Sontag as “startling testaments to the impotency of power.” 

– 1955 – 

Dwight D. Eisenhower becomes the first president to get his own television program. Episodes are planned depicting the president engaging in such activities as visiting a petting zoo and reading the Bible to the occupants of a nursing home. The series is scrapped almost immediately due to Eisenhower’s inability to ignore the camera’s presence. He is unable to go for more than 30 seconds without glancing at the lens, often waving or nodding. 

– 1974 –

 Gerald Ford becomes the first president to smile in his official portrait. The unprecedented sight of a sitting president’s teeth in such a formal setting rivets the nation. Time Magazine describes the event as “a new moon suddenly born into the blackest part of space.” When asked about his decision to smile in the photo, Ford says, “I’ve learned most of what I know from reading books, and my favorite book of all is my body.” 

October/November/December

october

the cats are getting braver and braver every day/overheard stumbling hungover down College Avenue one midmorning/you have started thinking only in images again/textures, flashes of color, soft bends of fading light/an orange juice carton left on the windowsill of a warehouse/that ragged inhale of early, early morning/an old man doing tai chi/his golden retriever napping next to him, paws folded/slow, deliberate movements/your body is not a small room you are locked inside of/you have not written since S. came home/what you can’t say/filling you up like a balloon/you left me/you left me/you left me/I missed you/like waking up with a migraine, like a clenched fist, like a sunburnt scalp/like the word miss (all hum and hiss, soft and low) is not sharp enough in my mouth to explain what I am trying to say/I missed you and I missed you/until I didn’t anymore/I missed you/but the heat turned everything bone-dry and dirty, knobby-kneed cotton-mouth heat/heat that crosses her fingers behind her back/so hot we ate popsicles while we were fucking/spent all weekend watching S. drive out of the corner of my eye/my shoes leaving faint dust prints on his dashboard/I was there/you left me/the way you roll all the windows down and light a cigarette as soon as you get on the freeway/the way your long body cuts through pool water/the way your feet tremor when you’re dreaming/this heat makes everyone feel like they’re dreaming/I’m trying to be braver and braver everyday/trying to read my horoscope less and less/they call it Indian summer because it’s not real

november

my friend L.’s older sister says she and her boyfriend are tired of sex, bored with it/says they do other things to pass the time now/sometimes I feel like I don’t understand monogamy at all/I dream of going to Disneyland with J./dream of riding the upside-down rollercoaster over and over/feel guilty the whole time/run my index finger across the thick branches of his ribs/press my hand against the slow dip of his back/it’s not sexual/it’s not sexual/but I wake up with guilt covering my body like grease/thick oil spatter guilt, the kind that stains your hands/once S. and I got drunk off wine in a bar and argued about monogamy/I remember the couple next to us staring/sometimes I feel like I don’t understand him at all/I remember how I felt walking home from his house the morning after the first night/life is sweet when it is simple/monogamy is how humans try to control the animal inside of us/the part of us that just wants to fuck and eat/just wants to feel good/surviving off of red meat and sunlight/I know there is something wild inside of me/moving slow and dark through tall grass/we have been circling each other my whole life/it is not simple/we are animals and pretend that we’re not/I have dreams like the room clearing its throat/sometimes a year and a half feels shorter/than that first long lazy sore-boned walk home in the spring sunlight/your name in my mouth for the first time/I am an animal and I love you/it is not simple/I will never understand it

december

three and a half weeks of homelessness/I am learning, slowly/underwear has become pointless/S. says it’s narcissistic that I love the smell of myself on his damp face/some smells have songs to them, full throated/some coffee shops will let you sit there all day with your small hands wrapped around a mug of chamomile tea/are you listening to me/the sharp sliver of the December moon, hooked/like a manicured fingernail/carving into the damp navy sky/sometimes I can’t even tell if you’re in love with me anymore/heavy winter rain knuckling its way across the roof of my car/there will always be beauty for those who seek it/two black cats licking each other in a third story window/lately I am all raw nerves, sensitive/blushing and trembling like the pulse of a heartbeat: what’s wrong/with me/you’re just so distant all the time/it’s just that everything else is so close, so loud/it’s just/it’s just/sometimes I look at you and feel like mountains/after sweet heavy rain/jaws unhinged, face upturned/drenched in how much I want you, drinking it in/but sometimes I look at you/a slow rolling ache/then nothing/for miles and miles and miles

Die Geburt des Hitlers (The Birth of Hitler)

(after Erró’s eponymous 1966 painting)

Not quite vaginal. Nor Caesarean. A fat splattering baby. Pink flesh, mucosa and teeth. Across Europe, millions of blue eyes twitch open to face him. Semen­colored sclera. Lids held open until the tearing, peeling back to reveal nothing. Blood­mouthed German shepherds and children unleashed simultaneously—a cacophonous howl, the fleeing of winged creatures. White faces, endless umbilical cords like tentacles, the black shine of boots. Swaddled gray and silent in a flag. Apocalyptic infant, cool to the touch. God’s index finger reaches out to touch the newest Adam. Adolf’s gnarled hand points down, emitting smoke über alles.

#SquadGoals:

Gif by Kuba Matuszczak

I will come to you from the woods of the suburb surrounded by highways adolescent. We will start a rave with all our friends, instagram it and get all the likes.

I am bittersweet and poetry tweeting. A sad merrymaker on a cliff. There is a Happy hipster girl beside me leaning off the edge planted in a digital blandness with a cat.  A desert of ello and goodbyes, and books made of faces she never knew. She takes a selfie midjump and I wave goodbye, cat in hand.

I wake up mad/ panic attacks every night scratching my head searching for lice that aren’t there, tonguing teeth to make sure I still have them, so that when I throttle my finger deep inside my skull to see if my mind is still inside it thereby killing myself, I can say I followed the standard operating procedure of losing my goddamn mind. You tell me I’m losing my goddamn mind and to come back to bed. I do this. And we go to sleep. 

Someone told me that life was better than this. “You should seek life in disparity”, they said. “Break rules that bare no meaning. Pro-tip: there is no meaning. Break them all! Kiss coffee into everyone you know and wake them up so you don’t have to be lonely on the road to living your goddamn life and dying. Madness is only mad when there’s someone around to witness it.” I think that person was a Starbucks barista…

I kiss everyone and everything is ok.

AREA WOMAN SHOWCASES TALENT

Area woman earns diploma. Area woman earns barrel-racing crown. Area woman promotes carbon monoxide alarms after close call. Area woman fights for safer roads. Area woman helps veterans heal. Area woman climbs Mount Kilimanjaro to help sex slaves. Area woman goes bald for cancer- research fund. Area woman lends a hand to monarch butterflies. Area woman on mission to save 7,000 dogs. Area woman pays it forward all year long. Area woman collects dresses and accessories. Area woman knows parrots like nobody’s business. Area woman opens CrossFit gym. Area woman touts benefits of goat milk, meat. Area woman places third in “healthy selfie” contest.

Lionel Collins

Art by Matthew Powell

Lionel Collins is haunted by his cat.

He took the cat to the vet and had him put down.

But the cat came back.

Yelp Reviews from the End of Days

Charred Factory

198 Bloated Corpse Lane, Ash Town

I went to Charred Factory because I had a Groupon. I ordered the human flesh. I guess it was okay. A little dry for my taste, but it’s better than the human flesh at Craig’s Hovel. There’s a nice view of the Flame River from the patio, but there’s a long wait for those tables. Call ahead if you want outdoor seating. The hostess was kind of rude, but our server was nice. Some guy got mauled by a Hell Hound in the lobby, but you can’t blame the restaurant for that. You kind of except that sort of thing in downtown Ash Town. Overall, I had an okay experience at Charred Factory. Nothing amazing, but worth a try if you happen to be in the area.

That Rusted Van Near the Quarry

809 Mass Grave Lane, City of Destruction

This is my favorite place to get a quick bite whenever I’m in City of Destruction, especially after a late night at Club Decapitation. The guy who owns the That Rusted Van is really nice. He’s always saying how pretty I look and stroking my when I order. The food is delicious, but it’s a food truck, so don’t expect anything fancy. My favorite is the toothpaste sliders. Some other reviewers complained that toothpaste isn’t “real” food, but let’s be honest, we all ate tons of toothpaste during last year’s blight. There’s nothing wrong with a toothpaste snack now and then as long as you eat healthy the rest of the week, and nobody does toothpaste like That Rusted Van!

  Partially Collapsed Parking Structure

1600 Wasteland Drive, Ash Town

I can’t say much for the food. I had some raccoon poppers and left before the main course came out. I guess the poppers were fine, and the pureed beetle dipping sauce was nice, so I’ll give a couple stars for that. But this place is a shithole, so I didn’t want to stay long. Sure, it’s partially collapsed, but there are some really nice partially collapsed places near Wailing Agony Harbor. It’s like they didn’t even try with the décor. There are some severed limbs near the entryway, and there’s wall art from a local artist who works exclusively in spent shell casings, but not much else. It just feels sort of rundown and empty. And the ceiling tarp has a hole in it! Thank goodness it wasn’t raining blood that night. I definitely won’t be coming back, but if you can get past the terrible ambiance, then this place might be worth a shot.

  Samantha’s Hollowed-Out Hell Behemoth Carcass

1920 Flame River Avenue, Flame Town

I love the vibe at Samantha’s. It’s so cool how Flame Town is reviving some of the old neighborhoods. They’re using the existing Hell Gargantuan and Hell Behemoth carcasses and converting the chest cavities into restaurants and lofts. One of my friends lives in Flame Town and complains that he’s getting priced out, but I like the change. It’s nice to have an up-and-coming area so close to Ash Town. The food was decent. I had the seagull and pigeon platter with bile reduction. The cook accidentally left some beaks on the platter, but otherwise the flavor was good, and there were no maggots in it, so that’s always a plus. The cocktails were pretty good too. There was one made from fermented locusts and roaches, and they added some kind of sweetener. It reminded me of the toilet margarita from The Utility Shed Near Gallows Hill but with some extra kick.

  Rusted Freight Container

825 Bloated Corpse Lane, Ash Town

No. Just no. They actually had damp cardboard on the menu. I’m all for trying new things, but come on. Cardboard? They also have a sign on the bathroom that says “Demon-Free Humans Only.” Really? In this day and age, you’re really going to turn away paying customers just because they’re possessed by demons? I’d expect this kind of sign in the Barbed Wire Belt, but not in Ash Town. The Militant Alliance needs to start making laws against this kind of discrimination. Stay away from this place and its bigot owners. I’d give zero stars if I could.

excerpt 0-3 from A RAFT MANIFEST

We don’t know what this means except that big things are coming. If it wasn’t already cool as hell to be published on our website, now our stories will be syndicated on LARB’s website and newsletters, and sometimes print editions. We hope their audience of hundreds of thousands of readers around the world ushers in a new day for our small press.  We’re as hellbent as ever on changin the way we read and write. 

theEEEL is no longer at theEEEL.com, you can find us at ExperimentalLit.com. 

afterlife

“A REVIEW OF THE AFTERLIFE”

  SERVICE PROVIDED: ‘the afterlife offers an extensive package of grave to afterlife customer support’

  5 / 10

you’re always going to be disappointed by something

for which there is so much anticipation.

  8 / 10

no specific complaints. Slow processing time compared

to what i’d expected. Would use

provider again A+++++

  0 / 10

vacated tartarus the smile of water on limbs , these

are very beautiful glowing moments among killers

for whom killing is a precious and deliberate act –

how can there … is … often , in the grass saturated

mornings I you whoever is smiling and mauve – – noo! I would

never return here if I had a choice so sad is it that death

has a monopoly on what comes after life.

  7.5 / 10

was reassured by the consummate very careful and caring

deliberate manner in which my handlers fed me into

this place beyond suffering they asked if I wanted to watch

my funeral on a large screen HD tv I declined and chose instead

to read excerpts from the order of service. Perhaps there could

have been some form of refreshment? Am I asking or expecting

too much?

  3 / 10

what is there to say ? Isn’t death the absolute

and final meaning? at death my circumference

was measured with a ruler I was found a plot

in a common grave really this is far from desirable

  10 / 10

every aspect of my treatment – from dying

to having ascended – was marvellous. I cannot fault

Rick, our server, and his team for being absolutely

fantastic, communicative. Would – well – would definitely

use their services again, but I am catholic. This, I guess,

is it.

  N/A

– user declined to complete review –

I Saw Mother Kissing Santa Claus

Art by James Gallagher

On Christmas 1952, Mother kissed Santa, a year after she’d left my sister and me. I was passing this bar, after buying a Sinatra album for Helen, when I saw them. Her lips were pursed into a thin, serene smirk. Santa’s arms straddled her slender figure, grappling wildly, a child in search of a toy. We’d never be a part of their little world. I knew that then.

What could I say? My older sister and I played games of mother and son? We boozed, smoked up? I could only pretend my tears were tenderly drifting snowflakes in the falling dusk.