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Modern Art or Living with a Number
by Tsipi Keller, November 2007
"He, too, had lived with a number, a blue one, tattooed on his arm. A free tattoo, he liked to shout, and German-made, no less! She loved her uncle, her mother's brother, he was irreverent, he was different, he never married; in many ways he was like her, or she was like him, or, more like him than like her parents who had cherished convention and security more than anything, if only for her sake."
Performance Piece
by Jim Chaffee, November 2007
"After shooting, I searched the computer records for Miss Stolle and found that she had bought two handguns from us, a small caliber for target practice and a .38 special, likely the weapon she carried on her person. A good choice for personal defense. I wondered if she could use it. I found where she had trained and also found her home and work addresses, part of the application information."
The Conversion of Asoka
by Iftekhar Sayeed, November 2007
'"Because we've sold ourselves. People who sell themselves can have no dignity, no decency, no humanity." Another draught banged the door against the wall, so I had to stop speaking. There was only the darkness, and the rain, and our voices. "Slaves do not even have the right to demand an explanation. They live in an inscrutable universe, which owes them nothing."'
an excerpt from transeXotica
by Peter Magliocco, November 2007
'"I've never meant anything more in my life," she said with a faint muskiness, her virtually superb breasts — with each roseate aureole of tit tilting above and beyond — trembling not three feet from my famished face. "O my soldier," she crooned, "my fierce, benevolent darling. Let me rivet you to this chair," she laughed abruptly, with magical flair.'
New Romantic Age
by AE Reiff, June 2007
'"Conquer minds and heart will follow," said TR, but epidemic romance contradicted that. Neighborhoods began to chat. Children played openly in yards as the menace dire turned out to be liar and the army left the road. Thieves went to work, of which there was plenty since philanthropists were hiring sorties to take them to the unknown parts of town where they could give away their money. I guess you read about it in the paper.'
Pulp Friction
by The Poet Spiel, June 2007
"Mr. Fred Warren will manhandle her by the shoulders, then throw her out onto the street to whimper and beg. He will stand red-faced, right out in public, right in front of those huge, humiliating, revolving glass doors where she got her slip caught once, and he will shout out her name, then shame her in front of Bessie and Emmy and Mim and all the hungry breakfast customers across the street at Burger King."
an excerpt from Anti-Christ: A Satirical End of Days
by Matthew Moses, June 2007
'The Pope slapped him across the face, his hand pushing the bishop to the ground. The bishop lay there stunned at the blow he received. The Pope looked up at the chaos that surrounded him. "I need some communion wine," he muttered as he walked off, away from the mess that abounded.'
The Bondi Caveman
by Leo Lichy, June 2007
"I have never been able to achieve any pleasant level of popularity. Foul, forgettable, phony — these are the labels attached to me. The harder I try to attain respect, the more vociferous the remarks against me. Take my West End play, The Importance of Good Street Etiquette, for example —"
Homeless Experience
by Brandon Gorrell, June 2007
"The man thought of this possibility. He thought of other possibilities too. Another possibility he thought of was that the spire was a public lookout. A place built by the people, that all could have a sense of security provided by a place to watch over their possessions. To make sure there was no otherworldly army marching toward them, or no meteor coming in from outer space, or no atomic bomb detonating in a neighboring city."
The Smallest Man in the World
by Ulf Cronquist, May 2007
'"We must hurry," she said, "Orlando is waiting." Orlando referred to Professor Fir, but his first name had never been uttered before at the Department. He wondered why they would be expected. "You should not mingle with those girls," said the woman in black, "they cannot think." "Well," he said, "they are referred to as the three witches at the department." She laughed a very loud staccato laugh...'
Beginnings
by DB Cox, May 2007
'As soon as we're inside, I start the engine and turn on the windshield wipers. When I glance in the rearview mirror, I catch a quick look at the man's face as he lights a cigarette. For a split-second, something flashes through my brain. Fear? Dread? My grandfather used to say, "like someone walking on your grave." I also notice a tattoo on the back of his hand—I can't quite make it out. It looks like some kind of animal.'
Rainbows End
by Simon Friel, May 2007
"Niente moved only between the house, the garden and the well. He never once thought to try and stretch the boundaries of his world and walk beyond the nothingness that surrounded him. He was, without any actual formal appreciation of the feeling, content with what he had."
Painting Pollock
by Joel Van Noord, May 2007
"She's moved from the Valley and has a penthouse in Santa Monica. I have a subscription and stare for hours at glossy images of her legs and feet and hair falling from her shoulder and that beautiful cleft that was always so gritty when I had it. It's been perfected and bound."
Pigs Make the Bacons
by Gordon Torcello, May 2007
"Snowball was dead, or missing. The other pigs were growing hands and toes, things that could pick up something as delicate as a pen. We saw them all eating, gorging themselves on meat and cream and vegetables out of season—things that had never come from our farm. Coffee, liquor, cigarettes; these things they grasped in their new born fingers and hands."
"Books" and "The Ghosted Darkness"
by George Sparling, April 2007
"Yet, I was his token WASP, since most of Marv's friends were Irish, and not the hyphenated kind, either. He used to move tons of rock back in Ireland during his formative years. That seemed the leitmotif running through his conversations. Marv's crooked spine attested to the pain of the real Irish life. He subdued pain by smoking mass quantities of high-THC weed."
Broken Glass in the Sauce
by Kurtice Kucheman, April 2007
"I was drunk, coming off a bad end relationship with a heroin addict. I was slamming down shots of Maker's Mark, and smoking opium out of a small green waterbong. I had called the suicide hotline earlier, and they had hung up on me after I made sexual advances towards the woman counseling me."
Palast der Republik
by Paul Murphy, April 2007
"Now they must destroy the Palast der Republik, a reminder that the old society was once new, for who wants such a reminder? Out with the new old and in with the new old new. They say that 'some people want to back to that'. (the new old) Perhaps it is the one in five Berliners who are currently unemployed, wearing rags or hand-me-downs."
The Vegetarian Inquisition
by Jon Alan Carroll, April 2007
"He'd crossed the line, there was no defense. For some crimes, there can be no forgiveness. Ty could feel all the steak and chops and meatloaf he'd ever eaten sitting there in his veins, waiting for the day they'd send him to the boneyard."
The Sheep
by Luis Rivas, April 2007
"The clerk looked at the girl from behind the counter, at her brown purposeful eyes, her loose fitting white shirt that hid her small braless tits and accentuated her dark brown nipples, her nervous shaking hands that hung by her sides. She smiled awkwardly, her face contorting and making her look ugly -- which she was not. She was neither ugly nor beautiful in the typical sense of the word..."
Three I Ching Hexagrams
by Lily Hoang, April 2007
"Mother & Father being good Catholic martyrs & Mother & Father going to church every Sunday & Father building pieces of church in our backyard & Father back then with hands so strong & even now that Father is weak Father still building with numb fingers & Mother & Father both sick & Mother with cancer eating & shitting & Father walking slowly & they are guilty of many things but sickness still inside them & they're innocent of many things & sickness remains inside"
Murder in Utopia
by Tala Bar, March 2007
"When it was over, I went outside. The air was clear and sharp, I thought the stars were mocking me... I walked about for a very long time, round and round that peak; I could have fallen over the cliff myself that night, but I didn't. Then the moon rose, and I saw that silhouette, a dark figure crouching at the edge of the cliff. I came near it – it was That Man; he did not notice me, probably engrossed in some new ideas for a poem... It was so easy..."
Diet
by Paul Kavanagh, March 2007
"With audacity, with a pinch of boldness and if need be a lashings of lies, he knew how to handle the bill. With balderdash, he would answer the questions of the undercover cop. His belly with opprobrium growled obstreperously. One of Giacometti's walking men. He felt like a Greek kouros, nay, skin and bones was all he was. Langden wished that he had covered his torso."
Maoists Don't Make Puppets
by Randy Lowens, March 2007
At last Henry's group reached the locus of the staging area and laid the puppet down. Henry noted with chagrin that his fellows seemed none the worse for the march. They, too, had been beaten by police at a recent sit-in, on the floor of a military recruiter's office. Although Henry could argue that his head wound had been the most grievous, still he was peeved at being so spent, and silently vowed to drink less and exercise more.
The Dentist
by Jessica Schneider, March 2007
'"It's Gretchen," she reminded me. And I only wanted to remind her that I was only kidding, and that laughing gas would have done the trick. But before I could object, she downed the shot in one single swig, leaning her sensuous, soft neck backwards, as I watched the tequila go down her smooth esophagus.'
"Borg Shards," "Blood of the Savior," and "Chez Quiet Desperation"
by John Bennett, March 2007
'A mother with an angel of a daughter no older than four just walked past my car.
"Mommy, why is that man sitting in that hot car smoking cigarettes?" she asked.
"Hush, Grace," said her mother.
I thought it was a fair question.'
Offerings
curated by Holly Crawford, ongoing, released here January 2007
Offerings is a dynamic and ever-growing project curated by Holly Crawford that presents art at its most basic: a form of communication, a social exercise, "owned" by no one. It is constantly updated on Holly Crawford's web site and embedded here, and will continue to expand over time.
Missing
by Martha L. Deed, January 2007
"I've been working on the aftermath of a 1998 murder in western New York that has affected an unusually large number of people and tested the criminal justice system to its limits. Originally, I thought I would write a book, but as I worked my way through the materials made available to me, I realized that I had something quite special, quite powerful, and that 'the story' cried out for multimedia web presentation.
I STALKED MARTHA STEWART!
a novella by Vernon Frazer, January 2007
"Inside the covers of each of the books comprising our display of Martha Stewart's new bestseller, Own the World Through Good Taste, public relations coordinator Norexia Pruinn found a poem riddled with obscene, pornographic and other objectionable material that violates our Family Values policy written by the disturbed and disgruntled Avery Blank, a failed poet known for his outspoken rudeness."
It Pays to Eat at McDonald's
by Justin Hyde, December 2006
"They were standing in front of the pop dispenser. Shooting it into their cupped hands and slurping it up. Was it Coke? Dr. Pepper? I can't tell you because I couldn't see through the adipose tissue and dual thickets of dirty brown hair. I could only hear the slurping, clicking of the mechanism and that torqued chortle native to ultra obese children."
Saintly Acts
by Bonny Finberg, December 2006
"He once had a Gym teacher—a real wise guy—who gave pep talks before high school basketball games. He used to say that nothing's impossible except trying to lick your own elbow.
"Thinking about it now—he wonders about it—the taste of what you cannot reach— Waiting to be conquered.
Porno for the Lord
"...the Lord did tell her to use her talents. And what talents did she have if not as an actress? And where else could she act except in pornos? A conundrum if ever there was one. After all, you couldn't exactly preach the teachings of the Lord with your legs spread from East to West. Who would listen? And who pay to watch such a thing?"
"Open Wide" and "Down on the Ol' Implantation"
by Richard Denner, December 2006
"After having the radioactive seed implantation, I was feeling bruised and glowing wildly and needed healing vibes from everyone, but now, after some weeks, I feel less oppressed having cancer, and I'm released from the constant deliberation of the should I shouldn't I wait and see mental games going on in my head. The operation was really no worse than a kick in the groin with a steel-toed boot..."
Density Dependence
by Joel Van Noord, November 2006
"The world was undergoing its second wave. During the first wave the poor perished in the millions, as the earth failed them first. The rich were able to buy armies and secure resources. The richest nations were the ones that'd been able to hold onto the luxury goods the longest; they also held onto the illusion of control the longest."
Hilarity Ensued
by Nick Bredie, November 2006
"The aspiring authors would end up in the cargo hold of the last tramp steamer in the world. It was actually a steamer, and after they had vomited a few times, the aspiring authors would be put to work shoveling coal to the coke ovens that power the old timey turbines. They were projecting themselves towards Lagos, but they didn't know it. Upon reaching Lagos harbor they were blindfolded and led into rail cars."
The Mystery of the Monkey's Heart
by Norman A. Rubin, November 2006
"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 interferring into the peaceful life of the monkey god. They kept apart, each staying in their own territory."
The Man and the Dog
by Luis Rivas, November 2006
"He dug into his front-right pant pocket, his fingers blindly scouring for a cigarette. He retrieved it, the half-smoked cigarette, pinching it in between his index and middle finger and bringing it up to his mouth. His right hand went back into the pant pocket and found a book of matches. He stopped walking. The matchbook was thin, an alarming sign for the moment; he flicked the cover back with a finger. One match left. Shit."
Quench
by Lora Gardner, November 2006
"And once you've been in a place like this, that will probably never happen. That kind of so-called love can't make you go mad until you die, unless it's suicide, and then, then that's something else, because nobody ever stops loving as much as somebody else and so it doesn't count. But, you can have it like that and things like jealousy can come and cheating and then the madness has a chance to grow..."
"Nothing Says Party" and "Two Suitcases"
by The Name Is Dalton, October 2006
"After a week of staring into the blue light, he decided to sell the machine. He wrote letters to forgotten friends, asking if they needed a decent television set. A month passed, the postman only gave him more eviction notices and overdue utility bills."
Ode to Serling
by Linda A. Lavid, October 2006
"Mentally, she removes his glasses. Nothing is more naked than a person without their glasses. His eyebrows are bushy. That much she can tell. But are his eyes beady or a speckled hazel that changes color? Does it matter? She moves on. There's no telltale sign of any sexual organ, no slight bulge or thickness off to the side."
A Deal with the Devil
by Rob Rosen, October 2006
'"Well, to be fair, she cheated on me first," John said, in his defense.
'"Be that as it may, it's still adultery."
'"But everyone does it," he countered.
'"Which is why Hell is such a crowded place."
