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“The trumpet of a prophecy! Uh oh, Wind . . .”

October 12, 2014 - by Mr. Shay Tasaday, Editor in Chief

THIS ISSUE’S VERSE: Welcome to our latest issue, the existence of which we cannot apologize profusely enough for. With influences as diverse as Tod Browning and Francis Bacon, Mr. Parker Nash offers a regressive work, one which more than decisively counterpoints, as one might expect, the perspicacity and concupiscence of this extraordinary journal’s mise-en-scène, avec wings.  By studying sign processes, signification, and communication, Ms. Hannah Rodabaugh gifts us with a poem that allows one to view the world in context of a post-gender, socially mediated age and its arrival as one of the multitude of paradigms exemplifying global warming. Yet again, Ms. Rodabaugh questions the conditions of appearance of an image in the context of contemporary visual culture in which images, representations, and ideas normally function regarding sanguinity. Similarly, Mr. Hal Sirowitz‘s work illustrates a historic breakthrough technically and compositionally, as well as being loaded, much like a debauched university faculty meeting, with tragic and metaphysical portent. What begins as triumph soon becomes corroded into a cacophony of hopelessness and futility when Mr. Sirowitz returns with a powerful composition, which we defy you to comprehend. Cleverly apropos of our current culture’s near-constant state of self-indulgence, Mr. Harold Crick sheds light on a post-moral landscape that embodies the failed moral and ethical sophistication of a Bozo. Please do not sue us. Debuting here after submitting poems for more than fifty years, Mr. Daniel Galef sharply defines a stunning moment in literary tradition based strictly on a jaundiced cynicism, harkening back to George Clooney’s evaporated bachelorhood. And Mr. Jeff Coomer, whose work explores the relationship between misogyny and misogyny, displays new variations generated from both constructed and deconstructed effluvia.

IN PROSE: Meanwhile, Mr. Dan Morey writes with admirable clarity and concision on a subject of extreme complexity, understood only by advanced cultures not just undiscovered but as yet unborne. And, finally, Ms. Helen Farquarson‘s story attempts to assail the broadest and most metaphysically significant questions of human existence, allowing her work to become a mirror into which readers do not merely look, but become a part.


  1. Everett Bola — October 13, 2014 @ 8:22 pm


  2. Earl Bowler — October 19, 2014 @ 7:39 am

    I don’t know what all this fuss is I’m hearing about it. Electronic bowling has been around for years (at least one and a half), and no one has every DIED from it. GAWD. And really where are they getting that e-bowlers like me are any more dangerous than regular real world bowlers??? This is just sheer hysterical panic-mongering. GO WORRY ABOUT SOMETHING SERIOUS, PEEPLE! Like e-badminton. Now those playas are sonsabitches.

  3. Simon E. Bolavar — October 22, 2014 @ 1:43 pm

    Este es el mejor argumento para seclusionist el racismo que los conservadores se van a hacer y se van a ejecutar con él, como no van a perder sus puestos de trabajo. Que tal vez. Love the Harold Crick poem, BTW.

  4. CerEal Bowla Flakes — October 23, 2014 @ 12:33 pm

    Current news media is horribly irresponsible. They actually make time on regular news to do things from Joan Rivers looking unrecognizable with her new look (she just forget to trim her eyebrows, folks!) to whether or not they’ll cast Brendan Gleeson as the new Spider-Man (for the musical movie, not the one with the kid with all the hair and a dull script). And now this stuff about viral danger. C’mon, things going viral all the time. Look at those pandas! You’re overdoing it, media! Not. So. GREAT!!

    Oh but Helen Farquarson‘s story is classic.

  5. Rocky Ebola — November 23, 2014 @ 6:06 am

    Took you long enough to get here. Took you 10 years to get to my house. Huh, what’s the matter? You don’t like my house? Does my house stink? That’s right, it stinks! Like most modern literary efforts. I didn’t have no favors from you! Don’t slum around me. Talkin’ about your prime. What about my prime, Mick? At least you had a prime! I didn’t have no prime. I didn’t have nothin’, like Bartelby! Leg’s are goin’, everything is goin’. Nobody’s getting’ no nothin’. Guy comes up, offers me a fight. Big deal. Wanna fight the fight? Yeah, I’ll fight the big fight. I’ll fight with them CLOWNS Crick is writing about! I wouldn’t wanna fight. Know what’s gonna happen to me? I’m gonna get that! I’m gonna get that! And you wanna be ringside to see it? Do ya? You wanna help me out? Huh? Do you wanna see me get my face kicked in? Leg’s ain’t workin’, nothing’s workin’, but they go, “Go on, fight the champ.” Yeah, I’ll fight him. Get my face kicked in. And you come around here. You wanna move in here with me? Come on in! It’s a nice house! Real nice. Come on in and move. It stinks! This whole place stinks. You wanna help me out? Well, help me out! Come on, help me out. I’m standin’ here! SIROWITZ!!! LOVE YOU MAN!!

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