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Fiction
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I Surgery
by Dan Jackson
It must be removed. Sunday night was last
ride on the I-train. That was too abstract to hurt. Last climb on the
building made of I-beams. French who must have their Je’s removed?
Spaniards who have their Yo’s removed? Chinese who have their La’s
removed? There’s this person. This person pinched their I once and lost
feeling momentarily there for a while.
January In My Mind
by Wayne Mason
Drunken poets with buddha hearts of pure gold camouflaged against a
cold world with a cynical facade. Facade? Drink. Toke. Shard of nihilistic
bliss. Float into me and the neuroses will feel as comfy as an old pair of
boots —they will clonk, and clunk, thump and thud into a drunken night -
eternity has ended.
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Dogda
by Fisher Thompson
One day, while strolling among the lowest life-forms of Nebula-7, he noticed
two of them, one atop the other, engaged in a peculiar activity. To his
cultured, highly sophisticated intelligence, they appeared to be entangled in a
violent act of aggression. His first impulse was to intervene. But as he
lingered, he observed the oddest thing; they were emitting distinct sounds of
absolute enjoyment!
Semaphoring with Sass
By Suzanne Nielsen
The pavement and retaining wall outside the north door are splattered with the
stains of many bloody fights from earlier this year. It's almost time for Easter
vacation, but that doesn't make Ricky any nicer. I don't think his family gives
up things for Lent and I'm not sure Ricky even knows the meaning of Easter.
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