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“Spring, the Sweet Spring”

April 15, 2014 - by Mr. Shay Tasaday, Editor in Chief

THIS ISSUE’S VERSE: Nature bursts forth, as for some reason so too our contributors. For good or for ill. We begin this season-of-fecundity issue with Mr. M. F. Cassar, who offers a progressive work, one which more than decisively affirms, as one might expect, the perspicacity and concupiscence of this extraordinary journal’s mise-en-scène, avec Jimmy. Mr. Cassar continues to favor us with another poem that allows one to view the world in context of a post-racial, socially mediated age and its arrival as one of the multitude of paradigms exemplifying Primal Scream Therapy. For his part, Mr. Lyle Estill jarringly apposes a sense of immediacy with a sense of theater re: F. Scott Fitzgerald’s unfinished screenplay. Similarly, Ms. Beth Staas‘s work illustrates a historic breakthrough technically and compositionally, as well as being loaded, much like the first half of season one of Agents of SHIELD, with tragic and metaphysical portent. What begins as triumph soon becomes corroded into a cacophony of futility in Mr. Michael Estabrook‘s powerful compositions, neither of which we can understand either. Cleverly apropos of our current culture of self-reverence, Mr. Daniel Pravda sheds light on a post-moral landscape that embodies the failed technical sophistication of, say, The Croods. Hi, Creamsicle! All the while, horrifically Swedish poet Mr. Kjell Nykvist sharply defines a stunning moment in literary tradition based strictly on a jaundiced cynicism, parroting Bruce Jenner’s achingly sad attempts at baking. And Mr. Bill Jansen whose work explores the relationship between multiculturalism and vegetarian ethics, displays new variations generated from both constructed and deconstructed textures.

IN PROSE: Meanwhile, Ms. Nancy Rapchak writes with admirable clarity and concision on a subject of extreme complexity, understood only by advanced civilizations not just undiscovered but as yet unborne.


  1. Bookayasha Bookayasha Bookayasha — April 15, 2014 @ 6:03 am

    First commenter! . . . But I don’t have anything to add to that really.

  2. Carl Jungular — April 15, 2014 @ 10:31 pm

    HAHAHAHA this latest issue has a sentient and formal frankness, relishing in sacred abstractions that are in keeping with Swedenborg’s “fucking spam email.” This “spam” forms a spiritual language-sense presence in words, a kind of inhabiting that allows words and their sounds to contain natural meanings and inward, digestive meanings mostly lost to us, like the Romulans’ dual registers of language as both sacred and profane. This idea is coupled with another theme in the issue: an originary signature occurring during the morning coffee period for the poet that enables a communication or spam from the Nigerian prince with which must be reckoned. This newly occurring “con”—from the prince—allows for a new kind of consciousness to emerge. Not kidding! Thus the poems in this issue ascribe and notice an embodiment to language that is both exciting and ominous. Certainly, the poems mark this inception as a way to mediate a conversation between our inner life (its sense and registers) and how our language cradles this newness as its sanctity. Also, digested coffee.

  3. Josh Levy — April 17, 2014 @ 2:17 am

    I haven’t read this issue at all. But I think it sucks.

  4. Sandra Freshetto — April 17, 2014 @ 3:19 am

    Half of it is really good. I haven’t read the other half yet though, so.

  5. Prince Rogers Nelson — April 17, 2014 @ 4:20 am

    The butt prose piece is the best. It’s got the widest girth.

  6. Satan T Deville — April 18, 2014 @ 6:08 am

    I don’t know about that, Carl. This issue could be a lot more high profile than you think. Maybe you should make a deal with Satan.

  7. Darrell McDarrell — April 18, 2014 @ 6:28 am

    In Cassar’s Poetry, things come full circle. He (she?) is bold to establish the terms of his radicalism, and we realize how acculturated he has become to the mannerisms of his sight. Take the fact that he has worked mostly with letters and words and stuff. When I compare the flavor in his cat photograph with those I’ve taken of my own pet owl, and then compare that with what my psychiatrist has said about my mother, there is sufficient evidence of the extent to which he has always intended to make words available, as though there is a shadow that comes with letters lurking away from view. This frugality of language, which his poems express, is more than a technical choice, and is not necessarily the result of his obsession with rendering characters monochromatically. It is something akin to his (her?) way of seeing, his intrepid but complicated relationship with what is manifest, and his untiring attempt to capture the life – and light – in the world he peers at. What we see is like being rowed across a river that was a mall only a moment ago. His poems articulate the presence of a receding life that is troubled, but defiant in its presence.

  8. Commodore Mendez — May 14, 2014 @ 6:34 am

    Letting Robert Orci direct Star Trek 3, or, really, Nu Trek 3, is a more than a nail in the coffin of the raped corpse of Trek, it’s digging up the corpse, chopping it up, leaving it unattended in the woods for a week, burning it to ashes, blending the ashes in with concrete, and then pulverizing the concrete, and then forming the resulting powder into a toilet bowl, and then installing that toilet in the bathroom of a restaurant in Times Square.

  9. Steve Wilkos — May 28, 2014 @ 3:30 pm

    RIP, Maya Angelou, who will not be rising anymore. Her first biography was well written and memorable. But most everything she wrote after was trite and schlocky. A media and Oprah darling, she was not a good poet in any way, not even by Asinine Poetry standards. She was, however, important as a simulacrum of a literary heavyweight—not for producing worthwhile art but for making people enjoy the idea of poetry, and one hopes that led them to graduate to better poets.

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