2 Poems by Rus Khomutoff

 

“Bud Haefner” by Jim Meirose

 

...but, HEY! [Bud’t Haefner “Bud Haefner” Bud buddy-buddy-buddy “Bud Haefner” the Barber /an so ere’s Nan Dipmortment’s m’porterent story bomb//and so, ya see—[pay some damned himtention eh you may learn something !!!  J. (which one’s snot ‘mportant) ee was getting a “haircut” from “Bud Haefner” in buzz-curley style (‘e hoped as damned loved those ‘toogies, those damned-downed silly ‘toogies) and it was maybe “33”% oops! Sorry! No, WAIT!

                        Yes     WAIT!

Hear out the following complaint against you:

That number up there should have been written this way = “33%” see now the meaning’s very very clear – but you know ‘e really got to get to the bottom of this. Did you deliberately separate the “33” from the “%” and thereby deprive both items of all meaningful identity? Did you—deliberately manipulate that text to distract the reader’s attention, and waste as much as possible of the reader’s time? If so, did  you do this to prevent the reader from proceeding on and reading something whose content would point back to you and your secret history of even more terrible crimes?   ---  never mind   sorry    back to the intended agenda “whatever that is” [dear God shut up already okay? Okay!!

                                                               Done!

                        So!                                   but report back to here at the end of your story to be taken for further investigation and possible punishment for that “33%” infraction which is the name under which this casee will be docketed      okay?                                      Yes!     so proceed on out own recognizance   . . .

Thank you judge

     So, anyway—that percentage of the “Bud Haefner” haircut only got done, when, dear God no a big far-off horn shot-blared all superloud, and “Bud Haefner” ran off to do some-kind’s “Vulontraleerienne Fyre-Frighting” (of which ‘e ‘lso ‘ppened to be the Chief, oh, whap, and so ‘e sat there, nearly half done in the chair only, and, Whap! the unknown blank cipher-cutter over next-chair said, “well, kid, Ey I will finish you.” but but but NO! “Bud Haefner” is my barber!

                                  I will have no barber but “Bud”!

            Hokay                                                                             hokeydoke!

And, so, ‘e sat hour, after hour, //   As “Bud Haefner” + force fought a fire to the finish elsewhere, // ones ‘n’ others came/went and came/went and came and came and came and went and went o’ hour after hour until—here came back “Bud Haefner” stenching of smoke, and, when ‘e saw, e’ flung up, and flipped down, flung down ‘is hat ‘ard as humanly possible!!!    . And what happened then J. really don’t know, won’t know, don’t wanna know, no don’t    ,kdnnme  dk,s  e4nbu     /// so anyway—I do not think I can say I have ever been o’er sides this spot off the neighborhood                            can you?

                                           no-most probably not,                                          but

so that’s the whole story not much, hey-la pupa

                                     Okay judge, I’m done here I am --                             

                                                                           do what you will with me I am all yours   

 

Whip! by Jim Meirose

Whip!

 ((((Okay, hey you, you hijacked my time, I’m sitting in this car, with the motor {{{{{ Do not do dis 2 us Babbi! Do not do dis, do not DO!  }}}}} running and the gas level sinking, and, you were you supposed suck to you cork suck it until I Was Done, get off you suck you suck you suck you suck you suck, zap Babbi!  me to over there where you’er supposed to wait OKAY I got someone scripted to illegally board this “Massive Old-School All Steel Caddy”, claiming to be escaping from something, which, when described, proved—ridiculous. But, that’s not the point, point is, that, they’re waiting in the wings [under contract therefore costing lots of money] engines idling, all pressures hissing, temp gauge quivering l’il by l'il No not into possible this dialogue is the red essential. Thus, class, you see before you are the leaders of the future and must be nurtured, yes, must be meticulously trained, yes, because thousands of traffic jams like the kind you are portraying will come, and go, and ultimately be lost and forgotten while the most sublime countless breakthroughs and benefits which each and every student you see in this mass spread out all ‘cross here, will be completely felt by all future humans! Oh, yes. Oh, yes! Each ‘n every, yes, oh yes. each ‘n every ‘n each ‘n every, sighhhhhhhhhh, BRUISE hop, FLIP! )! THERE we slammed down your mutiplactlickular “visor” so fast, and so hard there, that, it will not be raisable again ‘till the swills meet the road ||||||WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SAYING WHAT THE HELL, AFTER ALL ‘kay that Jai alai is an exciting fast moving game in which players bounce a ball off a walled-in space at incredible speeds using Hans-held wicker cestas ))))

YO!

Whip!

 

Thievery before an opaque misapprehension by Joshua Martin

 

dOwN changed a lOAf

       : condensed acne evaluation :

                 (of splendor, dripping,           [stevedore play^ing_ed

                   malfunctioning, barely              hide-and-go-seek,

                   audible in fiery auto-              vanishing bulbous

                   matic thistles) =>                             bar^stools

   dAnCe                                                         w/o thought=

          rapid cornea stability                                            ful

,         AT EASE / AT REVERSE / /           meandering forks]

. . . . .

cosmetic serial maladjustment              /                :                     /

fuming like a sprained ankle                         \                    \

rattling against stone age sewage  

systems arbitrarily dispensed                   :     , , , , ,

                         : RaGe (for?

                                        against?

                                        Both?) =>

          all between

          sullen nausea, COASTING            >sTeAdT As A RoCk^ing

=UN=                                                             shovel piercing

   EVENT=FUL                                             amorous knee^caps

                          dispositions of a                 , as wobbly as shut-in    

                          herded train^line =>             denominators< 

      sub=

      ATOMIC suspenders

      breathing lifeless warmth                 | ,  !  |  , => => => => =>

      into invisible leaping super^novas 

                      / [dRaFt, personified

                          ROMAN endeavors                (shadow,

                          coordinating gathering             shaded &

                          funereal wavelengths] \                  foaming

=> BeaMs eNcRuSt rIveRs                                         at the MoUtH)

       oF bAwDy whir^POOLS <= , , , , ,

                                revolt^ing_ed  

                                cyber^security     

                                BLACKHOLE

                                               [. . . . . . . . . .

 

Marzipan Divination Folly by Mark DuCharme

  for Joshua Martin

The crystallographer zeroed in on a treatise of snores

It was stuffy as a hummingbird’s livingroom

Oilcloth blowouts in chanticleer misery

An ancient way of telling flowers from bells

Wilted cargo, jaded vanity

Who put the lop in lopsided?

I’ve dug myself out of worse graves

The other way lies psoriasis

Loosen up now, down a pituitary bargain

The read road is often gone

Find a signal you could aim at vanishing

Threads won’t be threads in the harbor anymore

A case of hard, serpentine housing

Down whatever lawn you care to snore

Where spears an igloo of lancet doubling

Out the mirror, killing time

my own private Jonestown - Donovan Reyes

Dear GOD Do We Love ‘r Proddutalaccio by Jim Meirose

 

Paid Promotional Message by Jim Meirose

 

This is a paid promotional message (we couldn’t weasel out of it as it is an artifact of an early-on contractual agreement made prior to having ¹(NO) (Can you imagine where this project would be now, if the slick-shine pulling the wool down on whatever child signed this, had just a pulled back their drapes just inch more to the sun sharper?)  here it is:        ¹a brain.

**********************************************

Limbic  Cream                                     Oil for the Masses

             Available in many   Apply in the serious colors

 including “green”  moonlight      If not sooner      Tomorrow

                  Drifting                         {green cheese}

**********************************************

 

3 visuals by Sheila Murphy

 

 

Two prose pieces by Sheila Murphy

 

The Necropraxology of Xeno Stuxnet (spoken word)

This is a spoken word collaboration between Daniel Y. Harris and David A. Bishop.

Check it out here: The Necropraxology of Xeno Stuxnet 

A: Human Behavior by Jim Meirose (a short piece)

A short film by Angel Dionne

 

 

Angel Dionne's surrealist collection, Garden-Body, is forthcoming with Radiant Press in the fall.

effluxion, Volume X, The Grammaton Series by Irene Koronas

Excerpt from Volume X

The Necropraxology of Xeno Stuxnet Volume IX, The Posthuman Series by Daniel Y. Harris

Excerpt from sections of current The Posthuman Series.

New Album Out Now! by David A. Bishop

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the Combustion Sectors 

This is solely an experimental project of David A. Bishop

"A Feast of Estimated Mosquitos on Board a Train" by Joshua Martin

Blink, a conquistador flashing syntactical balloons lost in broken paradoxical ironing board earthquake fertilizer plants. Classic two-reel slapstick comedies lounge with handheld sneeze guards and spider shinbones splayed like pharmaceutical fluorescent timebombs.