Welcome to Is(sue) 7, kinfolk! The eighth regular issue will go live on December 15, 2019. See Sub(missions) in the menu (for more information).
|
"Die To Be Reborn"
Kon Markogiannis, Greece 
"Koan"
Kon Markogiannis, Greece 
"Question"
Germain Droogenbroodt, Spain escher poetry [L] :: (i)
Dylan Harris, Luxembourg
|
|
Avant(Stories) |
"The Other Reason"
Linda Hudson Hoagland, Virginia
Linda Hudson Hoagland, Virginia
“Mr. Holcomb, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but you are due for extermination in thirty days,” said a young man dressed entirely in black representing the death squad.
Vern Holcomb was totally surprised his number had come up but he was not necessarily sorry about it. To his way of thinking, sitting around and worrying about it was worse than finally knowing that he was next. He knew there had to be a reason but, for the life of him, he had no idea what it was.
“Sir, can you tell me why my number was moved forward?” Vern asked hoping to quell his curiosity.
“I’m not at liberty to tell you that, Mr. Holcomb.”
“And why not?” asked Vern in a cajoling tome.
The man in black was getting irritated with the questions. Vern could see that by the way his body stiffened and the way the pleasant smile changed to one over clenched teeth.
“People are not happy about the reason they are chosen so we have determined it is safer for us, the messengers in black, to not reveal the reason.”
“Do you think I would harm you an anyway?” Vern asked as sincerely as he could manage.
“No sir, I’m not saying you would harm me or any messenger in black, but others might.”
“What are the reasons people are nominated or chosen for extermination? Isn’t it because they are already dying of some dreaded disease that they don’t even know about?” asked Vern.
“Some are.”
“What other reason is there?” snapped Vern.
“There are many others,” said the man in black.
“Name one. I really want to know why you believe people should be eliminated at your will,” snarled Vern who was getting fed up with this. He had always voted for the black squad to remain in control over the past few years. Now, he wasn’t so sure about it.
“Those who are destined to be criminals; those who are mentally and physically disabled; the list can go on and on, sir,” answered the man in black.
“I’m not sick, at least, I don’t think I am. I’m not too old, crazy, or disabled. So now tell me, why am I being exterminated?” demanded Vern.
“Again, Mr. Holcomb, I am not at liberty to tell you,” said the man in black smugly.
Vern had just about had enough of the non-answer to his question. He wanted to know the reason why before he passed on from this world.
“I’ve heard rumors that someone can pay to have another person killed in his place. Is that true?” Vern asked angrily.
The man in black said nothing.
“Is that what happened to me? Am I being exterminated in the place of another who was previously scheduled?” demanded Vern.
The man in black started backing up and away from Vern.
“Am I being killed for that reason? Now, tell me who I have to die for? I want to know the truth right now,” Vern hissed at the man in black.
Before the man in black could raise his weapon, Vern jumped at him full force knocking the man in black to the ground to scramble around and try to pick himself up.
While the man in black was pulling himself up, Vern knocked him down again by using an old football stance and plowing into him with his shoulder.
“Are you going to tell me now?” Vern asked through clenched teeth.
“The man who paid me didn’t pick you to replace him. I did that. I spun the wheel of death and it landed on you,” said the man in black as he cowered from the wrath of Vern.
“You will need to spin it again or I will finish you off in my place,” snarled Vern.
“I’m not permitted to spin again and you are not permitted to finish me off. I will do that myself,” said the man in black as he moved his black gloved hand to his waist and pressed a button.
The man in black dissolved in a fog that floated to the sky.
Vern Holcomb was totally surprised his number had come up but he was not necessarily sorry about it. To his way of thinking, sitting around and worrying about it was worse than finally knowing that he was next. He knew there had to be a reason but, for the life of him, he had no idea what it was.
“Sir, can you tell me why my number was moved forward?” Vern asked hoping to quell his curiosity.
“I’m not at liberty to tell you that, Mr. Holcomb.”
“And why not?” asked Vern in a cajoling tome.
The man in black was getting irritated with the questions. Vern could see that by the way his body stiffened and the way the pleasant smile changed to one over clenched teeth.
“People are not happy about the reason they are chosen so we have determined it is safer for us, the messengers in black, to not reveal the reason.”
“Do you think I would harm you an anyway?” Vern asked as sincerely as he could manage.
“No sir, I’m not saying you would harm me or any messenger in black, but others might.”
“What are the reasons people are nominated or chosen for extermination? Isn’t it because they are already dying of some dreaded disease that they don’t even know about?” asked Vern.
“Some are.”
“What other reason is there?” snapped Vern.
“There are many others,” said the man in black.
“Name one. I really want to know why you believe people should be eliminated at your will,” snarled Vern who was getting fed up with this. He had always voted for the black squad to remain in control over the past few years. Now, he wasn’t so sure about it.
“Those who are destined to be criminals; those who are mentally and physically disabled; the list can go on and on, sir,” answered the man in black.
“I’m not sick, at least, I don’t think I am. I’m not too old, crazy, or disabled. So now tell me, why am I being exterminated?” demanded Vern.
“Again, Mr. Holcomb, I am not at liberty to tell you,” said the man in black smugly.
Vern had just about had enough of the non-answer to his question. He wanted to know the reason why before he passed on from this world.
“I’ve heard rumors that someone can pay to have another person killed in his place. Is that true?” Vern asked angrily.
The man in black said nothing.
“Is that what happened to me? Am I being exterminated in the place of another who was previously scheduled?” demanded Vern.
The man in black started backing up and away from Vern.
“Am I being killed for that reason? Now, tell me who I have to die for? I want to know the truth right now,” Vern hissed at the man in black.
Before the man in black could raise his weapon, Vern jumped at him full force knocking the man in black to the ground to scramble around and try to pick himself up.
While the man in black was pulling himself up, Vern knocked him down again by using an old football stance and plowing into him with his shoulder.
“Are you going to tell me now?” Vern asked through clenched teeth.
“The man who paid me didn’t pick you to replace him. I did that. I spun the wheel of death and it landed on you,” said the man in black as he cowered from the wrath of Vern.
“You will need to spin it again or I will finish you off in my place,” snarled Vern.
“I’m not permitted to spin again and you are not permitted to finish me off. I will do that myself,” said the man in black as he moved his black gloved hand to his waist and pressed a button.
The man in black dissolved in a fog that floated to the sky.
"Crazy This Doctor Was For Me Mother"
Jim Meirose, New Jersey
Jim Meirose, New Jersey
The pure office flowers sent out down and around the Doctor’s office and then low back down and gone away but coming back underthrough again and back and again until; the session clock kept ticking and now right now, it’s over to Sonboy, sitting and saying fast, Ma’s the one needs mind help, not me. My mind is fine.
Why do you say that Sonboy? said smooth Dr. Grundig.
I’m just here ‘cause she said to. To just come here seems easier than an argument.
Really? That’s good. You feel well then. Right?
Yes, I do.
Totally well?
Are you sure? Think about it. We don’t want to forget anything.
I’m sure. I don’t forget things much.
That’s great—but then why’d your Mother tell me you have a bad case of insomnia?
What?
You can’t sleep at night. Insomnia. Why’d she say that Sonboy?
I, oh—I just forgot about that. Sorry. But that doesn’t seem to be something that talking to you for an hour will help.
So if I said that you just lied to me about that, you’d agree you did. Right?
Lied? Ah I—no. I just forgot.
Seems pretty hard to forget such a big problem. Don’t you think so? I don’t believe you forgot. You lied.
No, I did not. I just forgot. About the insomnia. You know.
A quiet nightlike flow spread deepening between them. The Doctor’s eyes held Sonboy’s tight as he slowly said, Sonboy, hey. Relax. We just made a breakthrough. See how you talked yourself into a corner and got yourself stuck?
What are you talking about? This is not all complicated. I forgot something. So what?
Doctor Grundig pushed himself taller and inhaled massively so that his answer would be heard clearly up in the highest farthest rows of students in the jam-packed holy high roundy-headed totally accredited super-dissection and completely thorough Cranial Restoration To Full Health Ltd. College’s grandest in the western hemisphere as well as in his own mind, chintzy-slick fully chromed overly super-enormous gigantic and most impressive highly hazardous but still fully usable as long as extreme care is exercised and seat belts are kept securely fastened, Amphitheatre. He said; That’s fine, my young hippo, shit happens, my sweet, you know—dear d-d-d-darlin’ o’ mine, lots of people lie these little lies and never think of them as lies. Most do it because humans have the tendency to arrange people they interact with every day into little groups organized by their thoughts interests and beliefs. They talk in a slightly different way to each group of people. When they’re talking to one they block out all the others. For example—just think back on the last five minutes. You were honestly telling me you were fine with no qualms at all that you know it’s a fact, that if your Mother were here, you would be lying to her face. You didn’t even think one instant about what the right answer should be. You don’t know this Sonboy, that a machine in your head that you never dreamed was there. shuffled and dealt and shuffled and dealt and again and again until it found the most comfortable answer and click, bang, it told you to say it and you obeyed, Sonboy. And you only learned your answer consciously by listening in the moment as I was. Like a bottom line receipt spit out of a monstrous cash registering machine at the end of the latest of your phony transactions. And had I not questions you, you’d have cruised along leaving that lie on the floor behind. You’re just like most people rolling along dropping lie after lie after lie to so many people the machine commanded you to, simply because each lie makes that particular conversation simple and comfortable and very, very short. You’d have moved on perfectly happy and ready to drop as many similar lies during the rest of this session to get you to the end and out the door and wiping your hands of me butt—I saw inside you, Sonboy. I saw into you and spotted the machine that controls you and threw a lug wrench between the gears, and you woke up. All jarred and woozy from the hit in the head with the proverbial ton of bricks, telling you hadn’t had a clue of what you’d been saying. You probably hardly knew what question you’d been asked—or what the lie had been about. That’s how tight a grip lying has on you—for people like you it’s analogous to the kind of grip illicit drugs have on poor souls who deep down are so terribly deluded unhappy and sick--
No, wait, stop, said Sonboy, rising in the topmost row. This is ridiculous. I knew exactly what I was saying. How could I say it before I even thought up what to say? Come on.
Doctor Grundig waved off Sonboy’s weakly put rabble-rot, simply stating, You, be careful, another disruption and I will have you removed by my henchmen. All twenty-eight words you just said are just desperate moves to claw back away from the truth I hit you in the face with. Do you see this? The rest of the students must. They are not blinking or flinching all weakly like you. Learn from this all learning is hard—and that means to absorb the wisdom, every student must be that much harder—so let me continue let’s see. Where was I?
All right but I don’t get you at all, Doc.
There you go again, Sonboy—my God, there’s no slowing or stopping your headcrew. What, you got them scared to death? You might but they’re getting soft, Sonboy. The words they just forced you to ooze out toward me is just one more cheap made in China band-aid knockoff to keep stupid and ignorant of the fact they fucked up and let me get your gears all jammed. The gang in your top floor control room are in panic mode—your Captain who long ago you lazily and stupidly delegated total control of your behavior to has called general stations—but they better hold back cut out and retreat before the engine at the heart of you, Sonboy, burns out and away. Worse yet, let it go too far and it might burn you to the ground. By the way the class might be interested in knowing that this is the cause of the unexplained historical phenomenon of spontaneous human combustion, but—I digress. There’s no fire brigades in your head, Sonboy. Most fuckups made in your control room end up being fatal. There’s no EMTs 911 service EMS or police of any kind on patrol. The crew in your head answers to no government oversight agency. In your head there’s no FAA OSHA Bureau of Standards UL Approvals Public Works building code overseers no Standards Development Organizations Trade Associations Conformity Assessment Bodies IEEE no defined or documented U.S. Standards Strategy, U.S Conformity Assessment Principles, or Inspector General’s offices of any kind. In your skull rages the wild west. It’s always High Noon in your head Sonboy. There’s hot murderous shootouts in behind your face every day. Spaghetti-Western style conflicts rage incessantly up there. There are no liberating marines to storm your Omaha Sonboy. It’s only by the grace of your inch-thick bone-dome stifling the screams the gunfire the general hellish chaos that rage in your head all day and all night. So; okay and with me still, Sonboy? How’s it feel getting a mirror pushed in your face slapping you down with finally knowing what you really are?
The visible space before Sonboy shimmered and blurred and sharpened and shimmered, blurred sharply all shimmery onward huh gone some more no point in saying no more no point in trying to make sense no use. No matter what he said he would lose—just pretend it’s in the kitchen with Ma railing and ranting on some imaginary problem. Pretend this quack is Ma she’ll do like she always does wind down sit tight sit quiet until she goes on and she went on, saying, in some uncannily male sounding strained out near to breaking dry-rotted rubber-band of a voice, So. You see, Sonboy, you are in need of fixing. Inside yourself you’re all stuck nearly dead. I have to fix you Sonboy. Someone needs to do it. I to you have fix Sonboy you to have fix Sonboy you. To. Have fix, Yes no, my Sonboy. You owe it to your Mother Sonboy. Whirlybirds! You owe it to your Mother after all you are her son. Eh, Sonboy? Whirly! Named like that you ought to know nothing else. Birds! Tell me something will you please? Whirlybirds! Whirlybirds! Whirlybirds are--
What? What? What? What?
Are whirlybirds!
This is what! This fact; you hate your Mother Sonboy. Why do you hate your Mother Sonboy? You live because of her. Surely you should treat her like a saint. Not the opposite like you do. When you got her safely filed tight away behind your face. But—hey. Hey. How ‘bout this? How ‘bout we spend the last twenty minutes talking about your insomnia? Up for that? Let’s do insomnia now—class, turn your workbooks to page three thousand thirty-eight what the hell to the sixteenth power is he saying what I will give you thirty three seconds to find it who is he talking to those with no books look on with a neighbor—neighbor what neighbor and still for no reason Sonboy could see Dr. Grundig stepped back from the sudden dome of rustling murmuring preparation washing down on him from up down crisscrossing around the packed tight imaginary amphitheater towering over and back of Sonboy who asked himself what is this what’s going on what students what workbooks what class again and again tweaking and tuning the question he would next ask—what’s going on what students what class what students what what class what class what—and in the exact pinpointed instant that Sonboy’d pared all possible questions down to the solid belief that it’s best to say nothing, the Doctor stepped up gripped the sides of an imaginary podium, focused his face out over past Sonboy and began speaking louder than necessary words aiming up over and out back past Sonboy’s head, All right—insomnia, all right. We will tackle insomnia. The best way is to look at it up from the bottom. There’s much more to it than just can’t sleep. I learned this the day a radiator hose went pumping my big Ford dry and so I pulled over. Under the hood thank God for me a clamp had worked loose and I corrected that easily but had to walk miles on miles buy jugs of water had to walk miles on miles to the car to fill her back up. No choice, so; the road treadmilled—my God what the hell is this crazy he is no Doctor I will not listen—under me and I walked the road walking. A dot ahead formed to three guys milling around busy with this that and ten other things—my throat halted me up before them and said, Hi do you guys have any water I am from miles back and got miles to go and; a few chugs of water will charge me up fresh—got any at all, first; and if so, could you turn one or two bottles over to me—said as a pointed statement lined with a hard command but but—they did not seem to notice me—no no no Mother I will get Mother for this I will brain her brain her I’m enduring this madman’s ravings because of her—let alone say sure here you go—and if you one for the road too, aw shucks, no problem either but hold on let me drive these dozen or more last final nails into this table I’m making I’m holding its position with one hand while nailing with the other so it won’t be more than around three hours or ten you’ll have to kill ‘till I check our truck for your water I really got to finish this here big bronze bowl hammering out the shape does not allow my pausing halfway I got to get home before dawn—No! No! No I will not crack I will hang on yes I will because I need to get home and brain her I do—I got to shower and shave and see my day train off that siding before I hit the sack—so; when I finish up, sanding down this here tall pillar, then we will go see about you—and his face buried back down in the black basalt basin he was shaping. I would wait for him sure but thought what the hell ask these two others, and the second took a similar stand the only thing different was he had to grow claws enough to climb some fat oak up to his day-nest to get in before sunup which if he didn’t reach it in time—she did this on purpose she hates me she does time and time again shit like this I think she can’t really be my mother but; my will is stronger—well, he said all spiky-haired hysterical he simply had no idea what he’d face if he failed but it would not could not never would be pretty—so I tried the third. But he. Was different. But yes he was different. When asked for the water he just said I am their boss and I can see nothing other. I said oh, thanks—but my voice it seems triggered another I am their boss and I can see nothing other, but this one went on as I have no idea who they are where they are or—no surrender she cannot win the end is coming I will it to come ah—what they are doing, but yet I am made responsible for their success under pain of worse than death—I cannot look even twelve hairs at what’s right or left or above below or behind. I can’t spare that power since my power is limited so—go way leave me be stay back from them also there’s nothing to see go back toward them and I will spring on you grab you round muscle you down and smother you out I can do it you know so don’t try me. Have a good day may you—sweet Lord oh Jesus, Praise God I am out of here—reach your destination successfully—clap Praise God run now run go get her go get clap but class, the bell is waiting to hammer itself loudly all louder so clap clap bell hidden someplace hammer-clanged goosing Sonboy half-awake clap clap clap that is it for today class so until same time tomorrow clap clap clap clap and he moved to rise clap brood on where this may go next clap clap clap clap clap bye bye—class dismissed clap clap clap Mother you better pray you’re not home when I get there clap clap clap clap clap crazy this Doctor was for me Mother clap his whack-zany story had nothing do with insomnia Mother clap clap clap clap this day’s shot through with rips rends and holes making no sense Mother clap clap he told me I’m a liar who doesn’t value telling the truth Mother clap clap clap clap clap that could be true he had me thinking but if so it’s clap your fault Mother clap I do not want to be talked to this way Mother clap clap clap clap you told him to treat me this way didn’t you Mother clap you set me up Mother clap clap clap clap clap I am going to give you the what for Mother clap clap maybe I won’t come home at all Mother clap clap clap clap how about that Mother is that what you want clap clap clap clap want me out of your life Mother clap clap clap say that to my face Mother clap clap clap tell me get out of your life and I’m a liar Mother clap clap clap Mother clap Mother Mother clap clap Mother Mother Mother I clap clap clap can’t think no more Mother clap clap I can’t think Mother clap clap clap clap clap I can’t think Mother clap clap clap clap did you make me this way Mother clap clap you made me this way Mother how else clap clap clap clap am I like this Mother it’s time you were told what you don’t want to know about yourself Mother clap Pop! Po! P! Oh my Mother. Mother. Please. God, to be home.
Why do you say that Sonboy? said smooth Dr. Grundig.
I’m just here ‘cause she said to. To just come here seems easier than an argument.
Really? That’s good. You feel well then. Right?
Yes, I do.
Totally well?
Are you sure? Think about it. We don’t want to forget anything.
I’m sure. I don’t forget things much.
That’s great—but then why’d your Mother tell me you have a bad case of insomnia?
What?
You can’t sleep at night. Insomnia. Why’d she say that Sonboy?
I, oh—I just forgot about that. Sorry. But that doesn’t seem to be something that talking to you for an hour will help.
So if I said that you just lied to me about that, you’d agree you did. Right?
Lied? Ah I—no. I just forgot.
Seems pretty hard to forget such a big problem. Don’t you think so? I don’t believe you forgot. You lied.
No, I did not. I just forgot. About the insomnia. You know.
A quiet nightlike flow spread deepening between them. The Doctor’s eyes held Sonboy’s tight as he slowly said, Sonboy, hey. Relax. We just made a breakthrough. See how you talked yourself into a corner and got yourself stuck?
What are you talking about? This is not all complicated. I forgot something. So what?
Doctor Grundig pushed himself taller and inhaled massively so that his answer would be heard clearly up in the highest farthest rows of students in the jam-packed holy high roundy-headed totally accredited super-dissection and completely thorough Cranial Restoration To Full Health Ltd. College’s grandest in the western hemisphere as well as in his own mind, chintzy-slick fully chromed overly super-enormous gigantic and most impressive highly hazardous but still fully usable as long as extreme care is exercised and seat belts are kept securely fastened, Amphitheatre. He said; That’s fine, my young hippo, shit happens, my sweet, you know—dear d-d-d-darlin’ o’ mine, lots of people lie these little lies and never think of them as lies. Most do it because humans have the tendency to arrange people they interact with every day into little groups organized by their thoughts interests and beliefs. They talk in a slightly different way to each group of people. When they’re talking to one they block out all the others. For example—just think back on the last five minutes. You were honestly telling me you were fine with no qualms at all that you know it’s a fact, that if your Mother were here, you would be lying to her face. You didn’t even think one instant about what the right answer should be. You don’t know this Sonboy, that a machine in your head that you never dreamed was there. shuffled and dealt and shuffled and dealt and again and again until it found the most comfortable answer and click, bang, it told you to say it and you obeyed, Sonboy. And you only learned your answer consciously by listening in the moment as I was. Like a bottom line receipt spit out of a monstrous cash registering machine at the end of the latest of your phony transactions. And had I not questions you, you’d have cruised along leaving that lie on the floor behind. You’re just like most people rolling along dropping lie after lie after lie to so many people the machine commanded you to, simply because each lie makes that particular conversation simple and comfortable and very, very short. You’d have moved on perfectly happy and ready to drop as many similar lies during the rest of this session to get you to the end and out the door and wiping your hands of me butt—I saw inside you, Sonboy. I saw into you and spotted the machine that controls you and threw a lug wrench between the gears, and you woke up. All jarred and woozy from the hit in the head with the proverbial ton of bricks, telling you hadn’t had a clue of what you’d been saying. You probably hardly knew what question you’d been asked—or what the lie had been about. That’s how tight a grip lying has on you—for people like you it’s analogous to the kind of grip illicit drugs have on poor souls who deep down are so terribly deluded unhappy and sick--
No, wait, stop, said Sonboy, rising in the topmost row. This is ridiculous. I knew exactly what I was saying. How could I say it before I even thought up what to say? Come on.
Doctor Grundig waved off Sonboy’s weakly put rabble-rot, simply stating, You, be careful, another disruption and I will have you removed by my henchmen. All twenty-eight words you just said are just desperate moves to claw back away from the truth I hit you in the face with. Do you see this? The rest of the students must. They are not blinking or flinching all weakly like you. Learn from this all learning is hard—and that means to absorb the wisdom, every student must be that much harder—so let me continue let’s see. Where was I?
All right but I don’t get you at all, Doc.
There you go again, Sonboy—my God, there’s no slowing or stopping your headcrew. What, you got them scared to death? You might but they’re getting soft, Sonboy. The words they just forced you to ooze out toward me is just one more cheap made in China band-aid knockoff to keep stupid and ignorant of the fact they fucked up and let me get your gears all jammed. The gang in your top floor control room are in panic mode—your Captain who long ago you lazily and stupidly delegated total control of your behavior to has called general stations—but they better hold back cut out and retreat before the engine at the heart of you, Sonboy, burns out and away. Worse yet, let it go too far and it might burn you to the ground. By the way the class might be interested in knowing that this is the cause of the unexplained historical phenomenon of spontaneous human combustion, but—I digress. There’s no fire brigades in your head, Sonboy. Most fuckups made in your control room end up being fatal. There’s no EMTs 911 service EMS or police of any kind on patrol. The crew in your head answers to no government oversight agency. In your head there’s no FAA OSHA Bureau of Standards UL Approvals Public Works building code overseers no Standards Development Organizations Trade Associations Conformity Assessment Bodies IEEE no defined or documented U.S. Standards Strategy, U.S Conformity Assessment Principles, or Inspector General’s offices of any kind. In your skull rages the wild west. It’s always High Noon in your head Sonboy. There’s hot murderous shootouts in behind your face every day. Spaghetti-Western style conflicts rage incessantly up there. There are no liberating marines to storm your Omaha Sonboy. It’s only by the grace of your inch-thick bone-dome stifling the screams the gunfire the general hellish chaos that rage in your head all day and all night. So; okay and with me still, Sonboy? How’s it feel getting a mirror pushed in your face slapping you down with finally knowing what you really are?
The visible space before Sonboy shimmered and blurred and sharpened and shimmered, blurred sharply all shimmery onward huh gone some more no point in saying no more no point in trying to make sense no use. No matter what he said he would lose—just pretend it’s in the kitchen with Ma railing and ranting on some imaginary problem. Pretend this quack is Ma she’ll do like she always does wind down sit tight sit quiet until she goes on and she went on, saying, in some uncannily male sounding strained out near to breaking dry-rotted rubber-band of a voice, So. You see, Sonboy, you are in need of fixing. Inside yourself you’re all stuck nearly dead. I have to fix you Sonboy. Someone needs to do it. I to you have fix Sonboy you to have fix Sonboy you. To. Have fix, Yes no, my Sonboy. You owe it to your Mother Sonboy. Whirlybirds! You owe it to your Mother after all you are her son. Eh, Sonboy? Whirly! Named like that you ought to know nothing else. Birds! Tell me something will you please? Whirlybirds! Whirlybirds! Whirlybirds are--
What? What? What? What?
Are whirlybirds!
This is what! This fact; you hate your Mother Sonboy. Why do you hate your Mother Sonboy? You live because of her. Surely you should treat her like a saint. Not the opposite like you do. When you got her safely filed tight away behind your face. But—hey. Hey. How ‘bout this? How ‘bout we spend the last twenty minutes talking about your insomnia? Up for that? Let’s do insomnia now—class, turn your workbooks to page three thousand thirty-eight what the hell to the sixteenth power is he saying what I will give you thirty three seconds to find it who is he talking to those with no books look on with a neighbor—neighbor what neighbor and still for no reason Sonboy could see Dr. Grundig stepped back from the sudden dome of rustling murmuring preparation washing down on him from up down crisscrossing around the packed tight imaginary amphitheater towering over and back of Sonboy who asked himself what is this what’s going on what students what workbooks what class again and again tweaking and tuning the question he would next ask—what’s going on what students what class what students what what class what class what—and in the exact pinpointed instant that Sonboy’d pared all possible questions down to the solid belief that it’s best to say nothing, the Doctor stepped up gripped the sides of an imaginary podium, focused his face out over past Sonboy and began speaking louder than necessary words aiming up over and out back past Sonboy’s head, All right—insomnia, all right. We will tackle insomnia. The best way is to look at it up from the bottom. There’s much more to it than just can’t sleep. I learned this the day a radiator hose went pumping my big Ford dry and so I pulled over. Under the hood thank God for me a clamp had worked loose and I corrected that easily but had to walk miles on miles buy jugs of water had to walk miles on miles to the car to fill her back up. No choice, so; the road treadmilled—my God what the hell is this crazy he is no Doctor I will not listen—under me and I walked the road walking. A dot ahead formed to three guys milling around busy with this that and ten other things—my throat halted me up before them and said, Hi do you guys have any water I am from miles back and got miles to go and; a few chugs of water will charge me up fresh—got any at all, first; and if so, could you turn one or two bottles over to me—said as a pointed statement lined with a hard command but but—they did not seem to notice me—no no no Mother I will get Mother for this I will brain her brain her I’m enduring this madman’s ravings because of her—let alone say sure here you go—and if you one for the road too, aw shucks, no problem either but hold on let me drive these dozen or more last final nails into this table I’m making I’m holding its position with one hand while nailing with the other so it won’t be more than around three hours or ten you’ll have to kill ‘till I check our truck for your water I really got to finish this here big bronze bowl hammering out the shape does not allow my pausing halfway I got to get home before dawn—No! No! No I will not crack I will hang on yes I will because I need to get home and brain her I do—I got to shower and shave and see my day train off that siding before I hit the sack—so; when I finish up, sanding down this here tall pillar, then we will go see about you—and his face buried back down in the black basalt basin he was shaping. I would wait for him sure but thought what the hell ask these two others, and the second took a similar stand the only thing different was he had to grow claws enough to climb some fat oak up to his day-nest to get in before sunup which if he didn’t reach it in time—she did this on purpose she hates me she does time and time again shit like this I think she can’t really be my mother but; my will is stronger—well, he said all spiky-haired hysterical he simply had no idea what he’d face if he failed but it would not could not never would be pretty—so I tried the third. But he. Was different. But yes he was different. When asked for the water he just said I am their boss and I can see nothing other. I said oh, thanks—but my voice it seems triggered another I am their boss and I can see nothing other, but this one went on as I have no idea who they are where they are or—no surrender she cannot win the end is coming I will it to come ah—what they are doing, but yet I am made responsible for their success under pain of worse than death—I cannot look even twelve hairs at what’s right or left or above below or behind. I can’t spare that power since my power is limited so—go way leave me be stay back from them also there’s nothing to see go back toward them and I will spring on you grab you round muscle you down and smother you out I can do it you know so don’t try me. Have a good day may you—sweet Lord oh Jesus, Praise God I am out of here—reach your destination successfully—clap Praise God run now run go get her go get clap but class, the bell is waiting to hammer itself loudly all louder so clap clap bell hidden someplace hammer-clanged goosing Sonboy half-awake clap clap clap that is it for today class so until same time tomorrow clap clap clap clap and he moved to rise clap brood on where this may go next clap clap clap clap clap bye bye—class dismissed clap clap clap Mother you better pray you’re not home when I get there clap clap clap clap clap crazy this Doctor was for me Mother clap his whack-zany story had nothing do with insomnia Mother clap clap clap clap this day’s shot through with rips rends and holes making no sense Mother clap clap he told me I’m a liar who doesn’t value telling the truth Mother clap clap clap clap clap that could be true he had me thinking but if so it’s clap your fault Mother clap I do not want to be talked to this way Mother clap clap clap clap you told him to treat me this way didn’t you Mother clap you set me up Mother clap clap clap clap clap I am going to give you the what for Mother clap clap maybe I won’t come home at all Mother clap clap clap clap how about that Mother is that what you want clap clap clap clap want me out of your life Mother clap clap clap say that to my face Mother clap clap clap tell me get out of your life and I’m a liar Mother clap clap clap Mother clap Mother Mother clap clap Mother Mother Mother I clap clap clap can’t think no more Mother clap clap I can’t think Mother clap clap clap clap clap I can’t think Mother clap clap clap clap did you make me this way Mother clap clap you made me this way Mother how else clap clap clap clap am I like this Mother it’s time you were told what you don’t want to know about yourself Mother clap Pop! Po! P! Oh my Mother. Mother. Please. God, to be home.
Appal(Trad)
There were no Appal(Trad) poems for consideration for this is(sue).
Avant(Serial)
Introducing Avant(Serial), a section dedicated to publishing a novel by chapters in much the same way as novels were published in Dicken's day. Each is(sue) will feature a chapter of an exciting experimental novel - one chapter per is(sue) until the entire novel is thus published. Avant(Serial) will not accept unsolicited manuscripts by submission. Serialised novels in this space will be chosen by joint agreement of all AvantAppal(achia) ed(itors) and will not be Arch(ived). See Guide(lines) for more information.
"Le Overgivers au Club de la Résurrection"
a novel by Jim Meirose, New Jersey
Chapter 0: Ye who enter here; what to expect here; a taste of a preface
a novel by Jim Meirose, New Jersey
Chapter 0: Ye who enter here; what to expect here; a taste of a preface
Many too many too many too years. We both wonder, you know, how they’re going to do it. This is why we decided to join the Club de Résurrection. It’s not spelled out in the contract, per se; they just said they had to work out the right way to do it without invalidating the experiment. I was reading the wrong kind of paper my spouse had never seen so I saw this ad supposedly placed by the Club de Résurrection. Yeah, that’s right. It said, hey there! That’s how they talk, that’s how they tell us we should talk. Hey you! That’s the official word they use in the contract and they said that’s the word we should always use too. They’re going to, ahem—process us. Tired of living, and just can’t admit it? Not to use, you know. Well you can admit it to us. That other word. You can admit about anything you can form your lips and tongue and will around to say out loud, to us. No, I can’t even hint. Hey! Are there things you think of every five minutes that are secret that you just realized you have never said even once out loud in your life? If I accidentally give off any impression except what the company wants, they’ll dump my contract. If yes, come join us. The Club de Résurrection; yes yes yes, join us. The Club de Résurrection. That would be really bad news. If you can say yes to the question are there things you never ever said aloud that boom in your ears day after day moment after moment how about actually all the time, eh? I mean, then I’d probably have to move back in with Mom. Want to know what it would feel like to let all those things go? Get a job, all that? Come join the Club de Résurrection, we will show you how to die having said it all, which is why your creator gave you speech, to begin with. You know. There’s a word to shut it all off, all off. All that shit stuff. Come on and find it. Know what I mean? Sure, you know what I mean. Because you got to do shit stuff to survive, and I don’t. Why the face? You’re paying me to be frank. Yes, frank. Yeah, yeah. Okay, sure ‘nuff, there you go. There’s Frank for you, okay? All Frank. Hey, hey, hey—Lord God thank you Jesus that I never got named Frank. Huh? What? Tested? You mean the tests they give before entering a contract? Sure, we took them. We took them all. Despite that, we got there anyway. Just took about twice as long. You know how I mean huh? Yeah that’s right. How I mean. And we signed the baby up too. What the hell, as in kids eat free.
All texts and images, etc., are Copyright of the individual artists/writers/poets who contribute (see Sub(missions) in the menu for more details). This website Copyright 2016-2019.