MMR’s Issue 10, November 2010, with comedy by Funny or Die, Sarah Silverman and Jimmy Kimmel, original fiction by Micah Dean Hicks and Krishan Coupland, original poetry by Mary Christine Delea and David Wolf, and artwork by Leila Fortier.
by Krishan Coupland
I can’t imagine that they let you watch the news in whatever terrible place they keep you. There were more riots today, around St Paul’s. I was on the other side of the river, and I saw the Truth Grenades going up from there; little puffs of silver smoke. Some of the protestors came across Millennium Bridge, dragging casualties. Have you ever actually seen anybody who’s been hit by a Truth Grenade? Ironically enough I suppose you’re the one person in this country who hasn’t.
by Micah Dean Hicks
The villagers heard the stickman coming before they saw him: hiss on the gravel road into town, the click and clack of branch to branch. He walked up the dirt street dragging bundles of wood and brier behind him. The stickman was twice as tall as the tallest man in the village and wore a cloak of brown leather, so patched it looked made of mouse skins. He was filthy and thin, vermin walking the blades of his straw-yellow hair and beard.
by Mary Christine Delea
Crow says dove,
legs say shine.
They argue all day,
flight and the fine motion of walking.
by Charlotte Perkins Gilman
I lie here on this great immovable bed—it is nailed down, I believe—and follow that pattern about by the hour. It is as good as gymnastics, I assure you. I start, we’ll say, at the bottom, down in the corner over there where it has not been touched, and I determine for the thousandth time that I WILL follow that pointless pattern to some sort of a conclusion.
Up on the mountain, we hang out in abandoned buildings, places where stories fill the holes in the walls. The old teepee was on the bottom of that ridge, before lightning struck. Now all that’s left is the charred platform. Harry’s cabin is up the road, but he sometimes returns, with his shotgun, his dogs, paranoia, so I stay away. The trailer sits low in the valley.
Hey, Baltimore/DC Metro literati, Come out Saturday Night for Literary Death Match, hosted by Todd Zuniga, Founding Editor of Opium Magazine and LDM creator. The night’s theme… Andy Warhol. Literati, Art, Fun. Does it get any better?
Moon Milk Review’s Issue 9 | October 2010 with original fiction by Annam Manthiram, Laura Ellen Scott, and John Minichillo. Poetry by Scott Alexander Jones and Kristine Ong Muslim. Selected works of Spoken Word by Edgar Oliver. Black and white photography by Francis DiClemente, and Classics by Edgar Allan Poe, Vincent Price, George Romero. New Prosetry Contest (guest edited by Vallie Lynn Watson) as well as the September Prosetry Winning author, Ruth Joffre (contest guest edited by Ben Loory). Also check out new nonfiction by David Cotrone where he writes about postmodern influences: David Foster Wallace, Dave Eggars, Rick Moody, Marilynne Robinson, Jonathan Franzen, Jeffrey Eugenides, Andre Dubus, and Paul Harding.
She has quick hands. She hangs from the ceiling, holstered, her back supported. The razor is a hair too close, starts at the skin of the belly and shears it smooth. My feet are over my head. I am making it easy while imagining what her life must be, the only woman amongst cowboys. Do they watch her as I do, bent-over and adept at man-handling?
He is looking for the top 40 tunes
from fifteen years ago. There is nothing
Funny or Die | Protect Insurance Companies PSA. A message from Will Ferrell and Friends.
George Romero’s 1968 classic zombie movie. Needs no introduction.
The coal in the fire grate pulses a scalding infernal heat that bakes our exposed faces and hands. Through our clothes our trunks and limbs are feverish. We sweat.
by Annam Manthiram
My mother likes to talk about her time in New Mexico when she was a kid, drank grape soda out of the bottle every day until it stained her teeth, and amassed bugs like a crazy old lady gathering cats. She was one of the lucky ones – most of her childhood was spent among a forest near the Rio Grande, climbing trees with thick stalks like elephant legs coming up from the ground and leaves like chemically-altered hair picked with a comb.
Classic Edgar Allan Poe performed by Vincent Price, king of horror.
Prompt: Using the above image, write a microfiction (less than 500 words—yes, 501 is more than 500). In your piece, respond to the image in the above photograph. Your piece may take any form you like as long as it includes less than 500 words and relates, in some way, to the image. Have fun with it.
In The Virgin Suicides, Jeffrey Eugenides writes of the unraveling of a family, as three sisters take their own lives in succession, in a way that is methodical. Jonathan Franzen talks about what it’s like lose grasp of your own mind in his novel, The Corrections. And in his debut work, Tinkers, Paul Harding explores the life of a man with epilepsy, how his essence totally changes when he is struck by an epileptic fit, how a jolt—a ringing in his head—is the signal that brings him back to consciousness. I must ask, then, as a reader: What is it that will bring me to consciousness? Once there, what will I find? How will I come to understand myself?
Francis DiClemente is a writer, photographer and video producer in Syracuse, New York. He received a B.A. in communications/journalism from St. John Fisher College in Rochester, New York and an M.A. in film/video from American University in Washington, DC. His photographs have been exhibited in small galleries in upstate New York. His artwork centers primarily on nature and landscapes, still life, realism, portraits and abstract images. He strives to discover interesting images amid ordinary surroundings, and in this sense, the work is exploratory in nature.