Showing posts from July, 2012


Wheels by Joe Kapitan
The extremely lonely man ran a salvage yard and his hands knew nothing but ruin, which is why he mistrusted everything he touched, including her.  Beyond that, nothing else made sense. Why did he hit the emergency stop on the crusher at that particular moment? What made him check inside the trunk of that rusted-out Chevy Caprice? And what made him think he could raise that pink buttery girlbaby in that desert of filthy debris? But it happened. She grew long and lean on a diet of Doritos and Marlboros and peppermint Altoids and Pabst. Her eye sockets shrunk to caves. She learned her signature red-carpet stagger/walk from picking her way through heaps of bald tires and abandoned appliances. Her skin formed a relief map---red mountain ranges of scars left by metal lacerations, glass cuts. When their supply of Altoids ran dry, her hair fell out in clumps, the same day the movie people came. The movie people were making a young-adult, coming-of-age zombie movie and they c…


The Model
by Thomas Simmons

Hey I'm really sorry it took me so long to get here there was a whole bunch of traffic around the hospital apparently the president's in town? I had to take some long stupid windy way through midtown and you know five o'clock on a Tuesday you know how that goes
Yeah, yeah, mom's doing fine As fine as she's going to I mean I'm impressed with how she's doing and I think the fact that I got over so quickly helped make her feel better
Yeah she's staying overnight at the hospice with him they got her a pillow and stuff the staff seems really sweet and my brother thinks they're good too and for sure yeah he's the one who should know
I just
I'll be ok, we've been preparing for this
It comes in waves you know?
Like a train that runs through my intestine, all the way up and out my throat
It fills up and I'm sort of like frozen for a minute before I get back to normal
They say a week tops yeah
It hasn't been…


A. Murray is a 22 year-old Melbourne, Australia native. He is often
found publishing short stories, poetry, essays and cartoons on his
blog ( He is currently working on a novel
exploring the point of love under the working title of 'Part One'. He
would love to hear from you if you are interested in collaborations or
if you just want to be pen-pals. You can reach him at


Your face is wax with anus lips stretched so thin you can never cry at what you’ve made
yourself. Sexy is poison under the skin, sand for breasts. Sexy is in the eyes of the
owner. The taste of fear on skin, the smell of plastic in the secret places which are, no longer
secret. This is LA; can’t you see the lights? The cameras? Someone is yelling “Action”
if only you could move. This is New York; can’t you see the glittering buildings stretching
above the trash? This is the briefest moment, a frightened bird flying from the darkness
through a lighted room and back into darkness.

No one cares about the demarcations of the soul unless the body has been properly
preserved. The stale, brownish spots on the brain caused by dehydration, the vibration of seemingly
dormant particles, these can be chewed around or simply cut out, but they won’t poison
the gut. Still, they lessen taste, aesthetic appeal. The assisted suicide of the heart when infinite
incarceration is whiffed is identifiable by the pat…


freja beha erichsen
by Brittany Wallace

in college, between classes i would go to the fashion library a special library, dedicated to fashion to read the magazines
i never went there to study i never went there to consult the fashion forecasting materials that i was told our tuition paid good money for
but it was a state school and my father was a truck driver and i didn't care much for my area of study and i didn't have money for frivolities like magazines i had cigarettes and drugs to buy duh and in retrospect i was the first of my family to graduate college so what did you expect me to do
instead i stared at an advertisement for tom ford i think a bird's tiny beak like a pair of pliers closing in on freja beha erichsen's left nipple
a dash of blood across her collarbone i was very stoned
i wanted to pet the bird's head and clean the blood from her chest with my mouth
after staring for what seemed like an hour i forced myself into motion realizing that my entire l…


Born, raised and living in Sydney; Scott Jardany Lewis has featured in Screaming Seahorses, The Scrambler,, Cormac McCarthy's Dead Typewriter and UP magazine. He tweets at!/ScottJJLewis and tumbles at



So now I talk about vomit in terms of stain radii.  Targets. Blast zones. I mean this sexually. I told you. I told you
that Tyra Banks should let plus-sized male models on American’s Next Top Model.
Please talk about my body like you would new construction equipment. That conversation’s just an industrial washout zone remembering couch loaf now.
Where was I during the autoerotic conversion boxing and truck loading of housemate mortal iconography? Shit,
I was getting my nails did. I love the sound of you peeing.
The word girl comes from the word pee, which means to squat, which means to meet your limbs.
I was a supermodel but now I’m. You are reading. I am having sex with you. You are a mountain. This has nothing to do with your weight.
I love to slap you around and tell you things in the dark about my bedtime. I became a model because of my need to drive straight into you
until I was a panic of trees and a ramble of falling rocks.   I name rocks for my pose…


Dina & Darlene Tunnel, Supermodels by Katie Jean Shinkle
Dina, being the slenderest side of the conjoined twins, would always be the half to walk the runway, Darlene would be the face in all the photographs, the still shots, because Dina could not pose correctly: her nose was bent and crooked, her mouth perpetually slightly slacked, in pictures her eyes would go wonky to one side, up or down, even though in real life outside of the photograph she did not have trouble with her eyes, Darlene did. When it was time to hoof the runway, Darlene would wear a sheet like a ghost and shadow Dina. The designers who loved them would accommodate if they wanted Dina & Darlene to be in their shows, creating special ensembles hefty and necessary enough to hide Darlene, resembling how mothers would hide in pictures under setting and scenery with their children in a much different era. Darlene was merely prop. Darlene, the pretty face. Dina, from the clavicle down, the much prettier side of the b…


Be A Star by Delaney Nolan
Felicia wants to play Be A Star again but my feet are tired from walking around on the shoeboxes that we cut up and taped around our feet so that we could walk with tall clompy legs like they do on TV on the runway with the lights and the long hard bones in every face. I say, no, I’m tired, can we not. I want to play Kidnapping instead. Kidnapping is a game where we sit under Felicia's shiny black grand piano in the carpeted living room with a roll of Scotch tape and we tie each other up. Felicia puts the tape around and around my wrists. She puts it around and around my ankles and my baggy socks. She puts it over my lips and mashes it flat, careful, with her finger, but it gets fogged up from my wet breath and Felicia has to smooth it down over and over, running her hand across my mouth like that. It makes me feel helpless and funny and glad and like my legs are falling asleep. We take turns. I tie her up next. But Felicia knows which games are best and we…


I am interrupting Supermodel Summer to make mention of the fact that after 16 years of internet-knowing Tony Pierce I finally met him.  In a purely accidental and random magnificent way.

There was really no time to talk which was a shame because out of all the blog-peeps I've know, he would definitely be the one I would want to sit down and talk to at length.

16 years.

I met Tony during dial-up times.  When we were poets.  Tony was the reason I started a blog.  Probably the catalyst for the writing I'm doing today.  We go way back.

And I met him for the first time last night.

I hugged and kissed him several times instead, shouting his name in his face.  It was nice.

Tony. tony. Tone.

p.s. I'm not Asian. lol.


Pasted in the body
Brushstroke we fuck like hairs
We fall away white push
Comes to shove & plush Shave off surplus weather Lather skin in leather
Moist hot leather Must prayer hands stretch hunted skin? Tanned hide of super models Model of the universe A true love-making hole a la mode
Royal Palms caught on camera Really a desert & an ocean painted background Dead dolphins anyway Screen magic save us Teach us fuck & darling
Now I am a marsupial. Daring in piles of birth pouches The wreckage is regenerative. There are scattered brain cells Sure sells generating movies
This film my life is B-Movie. Fascia is Vaseline The body skin Holds together the padded actor I kickbox to save my life. I kickbox my wife my way I kickbox my way into a million dollars. My way is heralded
My way is the new way My natural new way is law Is heralded the primordial Clam soup The pearl-tongued clams resemble diamonds
diamonds diamonds diamonds diamonds diamonds diamonds
They are pearls The pearls come reassembled The pearls are come. T…