Posts Tagged ‘Arts’


photo by Melvin Cartagena

Answers Without Questions

By Mel Cartagena

To: benwayd@hinterlands.org

Cc:

Subject: Answers without questions

Doc:

Don’t hear from you anymore ever since you got transferred to forensic pathology. Either the work is so easy you don’t want to share the gravy train with me, or you’re too busy to send me a social email.

Either way, that’s what I’m writing to you about. In doing some spring cleaning over here I came across this document. It looks like one of your former cases.

The content looks like the answers to a Q & A session that never took place, about things that never happened, except for the part about the fatal beating of William Rhodell.

It was among the notes of your one of your most famous cases, the one that almost killed his girlfriend, and beat to death that private investigator she hired to find him, who it turns out she was having an affair with. The things people do. I bring it to your attention because it’s interesting to see how he’s created a saga of paranoia and mind control over a case of marital infidelity. And it looks like you figure prominently in these fantasies.    (more…)


The sound of a lone freight train breaks the hush of golden filtered light.

Autumn afternoon.. reminder that the green of the yard and the tangerine dreamscope

isn’t far from the urban jungle ; the grime of city streets and the graffiti splashed buildings.

Light in autumn dances through leaves of trees, lingers longingly across grass as if hands are (more…)


At the end when he finished sharing I wiped away my tears
Realizing for the first time that someone had shared my story with words that were not my own that I didn’t even have to speak
That someone knew me and didn’t know my name
Someone had felt what I had felt that they came out
The other side whole (more…)



Ruminations on Love & Fucking Poets

I knew this girl

when I had that blue Camaro

when I hung copper wire out my bedroom window

to pick up far off jazz stations on my shortwave

before sex

could kill you. (more…)


Quest
by Murphy Clamrod

I’ve searched for poetry
looking everywhere

I’ve searched for poetry (more…)


Greetings, I hope the new year is finding everyone in good health and spirits. A new year means new things. So I’m pleased to announce we will now begin the process of collecting submissions for our first print edition. The way this is going to work is as as so, if you notice there is a list of names in the header of the site. These names are the names of the people we have selected to submit pieces to the print edition. I don’t care what the subject matter is as long as its your best work. My only stipulation is this. I do not want anything you may have on a blog, another site, another magazine etc. All material for print will be exclusive to Sick Of ‘Em? 5,000 word count limit. If your name is not currently in the header. Don’t fret, it could be added just keep submitting to the site. Pieces that generate a large volume of readers will be considered for regular contributer status and be invited to submit for this or possibly future print editions.

ART- submissions are open for print edition as well. Just send us your work- Photography, paintings, illustrations, napkin scribbles, I don’t care if it’s outstanding I’ll find a place for it.  Submit to SICKOFEM@gmail.com please put art submission in the subject line. Please forward any questions you may have to me at the sick of em email or to my facebook account.http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100001809858784

We’re shooting for a May release of Volume 1. So I’d like to have all submissions in by no later than April 1, 2011.  Thank you to everyone who has submitted, enjoyed, and visited the site. Sincerely- Edaurdo Jones – Captain Of the Ship….


 

Gun metal tongue fucker

with a stainless steel vein perforater

trigger fingered block stalkin concrete limp

Soul seller cellar dweller (more…)

iCunt-iDrew

Posted: December 11, 2010 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , ,

iCunt

it’s not my pussy

if anything it’s a lion

even down to a little tiny

golden mane (more…)


“Total dedication,”

The synthetic voice stretched over the airwaves. Each radio would then allow it’s listener the pleasure of being christened by Rick Robertson, who slouched in his ragged swivel chair for the twelfth year in a row. Rick would then say “total devotion,” in his raspy signature voice which would then be followed by a series of drum machines and guitar bends. Then one brief ad by a local sponsor. Charles New, The Accident Lawyer. His voice was much smoother. More delicate. (more…)


Literati: Not So Much

 

I

In 1991 I read a poem to a group of a liberal arts college’s intelligentsia. The poem was shit and they hated it. Let me rephrase: the poem was about shit and they really hated it. (more…)