The following composition was inspired by the singular amulet included in this video/cover art and has survived since the seventeenth century. When Damien first came across an image of this amulet, he was transfixed by its story and beauty and knew that he had to find some way of making a ‘story’ about it. Damien hopes that it reflects his love for his Jewish and Daoist philosophy, Eastern and Western merged together. Rain, lakes, waterfalls, submerge into chaotic noise, along with the modern world of tornado sirens, childhood memories on the television, and typing essays before midnight during a rainstorm. The piece can go on as a loop, just as the amulet does so in of itself. We step into the forest to escape the modern word or record its beauty, so we don’t forget it when we’re back in our shell of a capitalistic hellhole. We put one foot back into the home and are submerged with technology, chores, activities, daily prayers, etc. Then there is both, the middle, the none. Somewhere among the noise, we hope that this piece, like a Talisman, gives you a glimmer of that mirror.Continue reading “A Talisman for the Rivers of Eden By Zke”
Tarot in Pandemic – 28 March 2020
Sustain me today, Tarot, with
your Ace of Cups.
To raise me out of the murky depths,
she sent me a dove,
and a chalice.
She held me, as one does the wind,
futilely.Continue reading “Tarot in Pandemic, a series of poems by Joseph Ellison Brockway”
Small, childish hands of a small, childish body. And its childish legs stood on the ledge of a grey, concrete obelisk. Big, adult clothing was hung around and hugged its body. Slithered its hands and small, childish fingers out of the long, snake-like sleeve with two needles. Threw one over the ledge and punctured the young meat of its finger with the other. In from one and out from the other end. Sew the fabric of reality into itself.
It inhaled the measured, sonic existence of the concrete forest. After its hand came out when it reached into its pocket, the weird, long, white, plastic strand of earphones was hanging from its fingers and small, cute nails.Continue reading “OUTSIDE WORLD – A Multimedia Art Project by Noise Weaver”
Museum of Impending Death
Trying to focus on what feels meaningful to me in this moment.
Trying not to let my own thoughts reside inside nothing but impending death.
Trying not to let my own thoughts reside inside this giant nihilistic
ever expanding sky filled with rising numbers of dead stars.
Brimming with stark contrasts, alternating currents
between freaked out, productive, freaked out,
creative, wondering if I’m going to die from this.
If I’m going to melt down inside this ongoing vortex.
Thousands of broken wings get sucked into numbers,
spiral down, crack into the ground, vanish.
Thunder in the sky sounds like gurgling blood,
getting closer until I shake and cover my ears.
Trying to place my own impending death inside another poem
filled with words instead of numbers. Cerulean blue instead of red.Continue reading “Three Poems by Juliet Cook”
For we cannot define everything & must begin somewhere. The atoms whirl about, a picture forms. A hole that is no longer bottomless, contemplation of which, carrying the first sky, falling(mouthless)upon the first watcher…Continue reading “VAMPYR by Louis Armand – an excerpt from a novel-in-progress”
There there there there there there there here on in the wall Onan’s masturbating guiltily again she’s all blacked out out out and up in the clouds cold closing moon’s in the sky I say to her why couldn’t she stay a little longer there’s something in the walls
rrrrrrunning rune ropes thick around the body tight and heavy a storm coming crack open the sky and wait for the apocalypse yes it is coming haven’t you heard and I already made my graving restplace
here now here now here now here now hear me i’m there paralytic and fucked in the basement as the light cracks through schizophrenic mother always told me id end up funny down this path yes and no knowing id believed her at some point going going going goneContinue reading “PHOTOGRAPH OF A WOMAN IN PAIN by Caela Price”
mode time of anonymity music disillusion she’s owned 0 secret clone cyberoctave my rest storage they assure the mirrorstorm outerfeel placenta constellation and the exciting constellation eye of the apparent dream your baby’s eyeballs into your womb babel into the blue desert to the desert reverse movement of a comfortable inhabitant of childhood mirrors in space… hell external hell i was occupying is moved to gimmick suspension was placed because what was intended was a barbarian maze of cell breaks that was longer than the male blood breathing into the zone bar_unknown demon had a causal soul storage of sorrow is why its cellular circulation is hosted by the night corpse of the wolf’s embryo::: she’s a chaos from its hostContinue reading “Mirrorstorm by Kenji Siratori”
Burning House Press are excited to welcome ATEFEH AHMADI as our MAY 2020 guest editor! As of today ATEFEH will take over editorship of Burning House Press online for the full month of MAY.
Submissions are open from today – 1st MAY and will remain open until 24TH MAY.
ATEFEH’S theme for the month is as follows
TALISMAN // CHANNELLING THE OUTSIDE
ESCAPISM EDITION APRIL 2020 GUEST EDITED/CURATED BY upfromsumdirtContinue reading “ESCAPISM EDITION APRIL 2020 GUEST EDITED/CURATED BY upfromsumdirt”
essay: Insipid / Intrepid
As the adventurous person talks on, I am struck by a sense that they are confident and unperturbed by minor setbacks. I find myself specifically interested in the banal logistics of what it means to be that way, more than being interested in their actual stories. I feel that there’s no way for me to think cleverly about what it means to live an interesting life, or what it means to be fluid and graceful as you move through the world. Continue reading “Essay by Rosa Jones”
short story: Ruined Things Are Only Gorgeous When They Are Not Yours
Driving along the motorway, the radio crackled. She wanted to trace something on the window, but couldn’t think what. She fiddled with buttons, found an old song they both liked and turned it up. She imagined she was going to Berlin, to meet girls wearing orange lipstick and boots, tall and forward in the chaos of other people. Continue reading “Short Story by Anna Walsh”
the second gregarious girls come out to the streets
the streets become a jamboree for alter egos and their debutantes
to that sight the gods from above
dissolve into the opaque solar panache
soon after when the luminary man resigns
entrusting Enkidu with an ordinary mission
to make a king believe he is the cause
of his own inhibitions