Auntie Bellum
Every society must schedule at least one civil war during its existence. It appears to be an unwritten cosmic law. Far be it from Saragun Springs to scoff at unwritten cosmic laws by continuously living in peace when such is considered abnormal.
Continue reading “The Saragun Civil War by Leila Allison”
Neither Mr. Dunner nor I knew which now-gone relative carefully placed the photographs in the chimneys. Had it not been for Mr. Dunner’s care, we wouldn’t have known the photographs existed. All that I know for sure is that Old Da, my grandmother, took up each newly discovered photograph and studied the emergence of her former self (portrayed in various instants), but there was more to it than that. I’ve come to believe that all the while she was either healing or dying, and I expect we were both waiting for some coda of presentiment.
Let’s go back to the beginning:
Continue reading “Most of the Things He Remembered Took Place Long Before He was Born * by J Bradley Minnick”
I’d dropped into the Gordon Arms the other night, expecting to watch my team in a death-or-glory relegation struggle on the pub’s sports channel. Instead, they were screening some jaw-cracking yawn of a European game (how could you ever get excited about a team called ‘Borussia Mönchengladbach’?). I was just about to drain my pint and head home, when I recognised a familiar big red face grinning at me from a table in the corner. It was Willie the Postie, now retired, who I hadn’t seen for a couple of years. So I bought us a couple of pints and we settled down for a catch-up.
Continue reading “Willie the Postie and the Humpbacked Bridge by Michael Bloor”
“Honey don’t walk out – I’m too drunk to follow.” – Tom Petty
Written on October 31, 2022, and later recovered from the files:
Jack Kerouac, from his position as a marginalized, criticized, and rejected American prophet, wrote about the “big American night, redder and darker all the time.” He noted that the night was “closing in,” and concluded that “there is no home.” In his song “The Waiting,” Tom Petty sings, or screams, at least four times, “Don’t let them get to you,” and, “Don’t let it get to you.” The prophetic shout of American rock and roll came to early and lasting perfection in one of Petty’s greatest heroes, Jerry Lee Lewis, “The Killer,” the best of them all.
Continue reading “Sunday Whatever – The Killer -An Essay by Dale Willliam Barrigar”
Five hours. That’s how long Angela had been hiding in the basement. Five. Whole. Hours.
Continue reading “Angela and the Balm by J D Strunk”
‘Where did you say Mum is this weekend?’
Florian is stretched out on the sitting room sofa, feet up on the coffee table, laptop in its customary position. Affecting nonchalance, he keeps his eyes on the screen.
‘She’s off for a spa retreat, sweetheart.’
Continue reading “Florian Is Totally Fine With This by Courtney Jean Day”
Do you ever feel stuck? Asleep at the wheel of your own life? Each day a motion, repeated to the point of mental RSI, a means to an end? You must surely know the feeling. The same papers passed over your desk. The same documents read on a dusty laptop screen. The same dull drum playing on the surface of your temples. And you think to yourself: surely this ends soon?
Continue reading “Days Off by Dylan Ng”
I was barely thirteen when my big brother Jimmy came home from school with a wailing guitar. We were two kids caught up in an ongoing dispute between our parents over things we could not really understand, and we feared they were going to split up and we would become casualties of a broken home. As a byproduct of this trauma the two of us had bonded over a budding and mutual love of rock music. Somehow our mutual interest in rock guitar music had given us something to hang onto as our parents became more and more involved in petty bickering and outright bursts of anger.
Continue reading “Wailing Guitar by Steve Sibra “
It’s a fine day for a game. Though the sky is dreary– columns of smoke rise from the building above– the weather is just chilly enough to motivate us to stay moving, focused. We arrived at Mauthausen earlier this afternoon. One of the men had been waiting for us at the station. Our walk to the field was short, the town small but warm– comfortable. The people are nice here. The fuẞballfield is conveniently placed at the end of the main street– the bottom of the hill.
Continue reading “Like Lightning by Evangeline Golden”
Something has been playing on my mind this week after eating some Japanese crackers – Do fish taste the way that they do due to the seaweed? Or does seaweed taste the way that it does due to the fish?
Continue reading “Week 556 – Two Questions, Oocha, Ooocha, Oocha Ooooo!! And Serial Killers Are Much more Interesting Than Your Kids.”
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