Not For Profit/For Prophecy



Intinction by Amy Barnes

“Father, there are no palm branches.”

“How did you let that happen? Never mind, bring me the ashes.”

The deacon dutifully brought the marble jar before scurrying away to hide behind the altar’s red velvet throne. Father Orson pulled off the heavy lid to survey the contents before tucking the jar under his arm like a slaughter hog.
Continue reading “Intinction by Amy Barnes”

Ten Simple Instructions for Complex Acts by William Cordeiro

after the FLUXUS Performance Workbook

1. All performers conduct a different hygiene routine: floss, clip toenails, wash hands, put on deodorant, shave, pluck eyebrows, etc. They may trade routines in a fugue-like pattern if they wish. Their tempo should correspond to the movements of a symphony.

Continue reading “Ten Simple Instructions for Complex Acts by William Cordeiro”

One Act Play In Which The Stage Is In Many Places At Once But Only For You by Rob Colgate

after Dalton Day

[The stage is a stage at the center of a tent that is also a stage in an academic building that is also a stage within an office in a skyscraper that is also a stage underwater that is also just a normal stage in a concert hall or a theater or something like that. The stage is all of these places at once and both YOU and ME are on the stage. Continue reading “One Act Play In Which The Stage Is In Many Places At Once But Only For You by Rob Colgate”

A Different Branch by Christopher John Eggett

We moved somewhere cold. Very cold.

Because I wanted a job choosing the noise that keyboards make. Away from the toy factory.

It was part of a plan like many thing were at the time. You start with the noises made by the keys and then you work your way up to implementing vowels. I’d done my dissertation on it.

We both thought it might be fine to live in another language.

Continue reading “A Different Branch by Christopher John Eggett”

First Thought by Stephen Orr

Maybe I can calculate my way out of it? Terminal velocity, 54 m/s, @ 37,000 feet, which gives me about two and half minutes (not exactly, but considering, that’ll do). To do what? Think of a way out? Go over every detail and see if I could’ve done it better? Reassess my life via Nairobi, South B Hospital, seven and a half pounds, small bassinet in the corner of a mud-brick home, loving mother and father, primary school, high school, and Mrs Otieno telling Mama the boy’s some sort of mathematical genius. Straight to my Continue reading “First Thought by Stephen Orr”

The Tao of “Howl” by KB Baltz

She said her name was Billie.  Her mama called her Billie-Jean when she called her anything at all.  At fourteen she was all angles and knees and steel-blue eyes. We sat in the doorway of my 1970’s shit-brown RV, the orange shag rug faded to something between mustard and burnt sienna.  Dirt had settled so deeply into it that it was hard to tell the difference between the ground and floor. Continue reading “The Tao of “Howl” by KB Baltz”

Please Note: This Sleep Clinic is Fragrance Free by Tamara Sellman

Room 2 – 6.17.2015
EMR #1421 – DOB 12.25.1981

PATIENT at lab tonight for a nocturnal polysomnographic assessment (NPSG) following complaints of excessive daytime sleepiness. Ordering physician will review data before ordering nap tests to rule out sleep disordered breathing as primary diagnosis.

PATIENT arrives noticeably sleepy. During 10/20 procedure, conversation lulls are induced by frequent microsleeps, but PATIENT is easily aroused.

Continue reading “Please Note: This Sleep Clinic is Fragrance Free by Tamara Sellman”

CERTAIN MOTELS / MOTEL SOFA by Shane Jesse Christmass

The transparent eyelids of Los Angeles. The whole show of human sense … celestial mechanics suddenly unemployed … language makers with superior intellect … everyday sexual occurrences inside the supermarket … secret visions stymied by the cerebral systems … an endless sky … dead arms flay about in a great storm … the feint flash of a sticky … heavy rain. My ghastly face … these hots days … these telegraph wires … this Continue reading “CERTAIN MOTELS / MOTEL SOFA by Shane Jesse Christmass”

Auto- by AM Ringwalt

I begin with a drone.


I begin with the reflection of my face as I sing to the framed photo of a volcano erupting.

I begin with my mother—how, this summer, as we drove through the humidity and jasmine and river-smell (not quite fish, not quite algae, not quite salt) she told me I had a twin who died in the womb.

I decide she’s a sister.

Ghost sister. I begin with a drone and narrate from the voice of the ghost sister,
…………..ghost double. Continue reading Auto- by AM Ringwalt”

Babel-ware by Mike Corrao and Logan Jones

Continue reading “Babel-ware by Mike Corrao and Logan Jones”

Owen Vince: after Brodsky

Head Disaster I and Head Disaster II – after Brodsky

Continue reading “Owen Vince: after Brodsky”

Waking Up, Breathing by Frank Garrett

Tone wakes in the middle of the night. A breath breathing on his neck. At first he assumes it’s Flint’s fitful breath. He must’ve joined Tone in bed, stretched across the arc of his back, his snout behind his head, his nose close to his ear. A grumblevoice. A shifting of weight.

Continue reading “Waking Up, Breathing by Frank Garrett”

Autoi-biography by Dov Nelkin

I’ve been ignoring all calls since you began ignoring mine.

But “Voices” sang to me in the cacophony of critics that spend their day, my day, in my mind commenting on every thought or action I associate with my I. You, I associate with my id. (“’What id like to do to you’ would have been a better line,” one says, as another says “You’d never pull it off” and still another, “They’d assume ‘id’ is a typo.”) Perhaps the emergence of your smile draws out my words, but that information whispers too softly for me to hear over the cacophony. Continue reading “Autoi-biography by Dov Nelkin”

New fiction by Marc Nash

Continue reading “New fiction by Marc Nash”

Graceland by Voima Oy and Sean Fraser

Graceland, Graceland, I’m going to Graceland. So, this is how it ends? All my life I lived for time and money, tied to the world of things. Ellie said, you have to get a smartphone, grandpa. Too bad, I left my phone at home. Oh, I want to believe we all will be received. At least, I’m not alone.

“Loneliness?” mused the fellow who sat reclined against the wall of Kii-no-kuni-ya holding the letter sent poste restante. “We cannot be.” He listened to his thoughts as they spoke of their voyages and woes, frivolities and schemes. The fellow stood. “Hour’s come.” They went on the road merrily speaking the thoughts they had at the hour the Sun would rise. Continue reading “Graceland by Voima Oy and Sean Fraser”

That Phone Call by Lacie Grayson

If I’m being honest, I always wanted to be a writer. The phone sex came second. The modeling came third and the mediumship? Totally unplanned. I run from that, just like my mum some would say along my journey. It’s the the things you run from, you end up needing the most. Continue reading “That Phone Call by Lacie Grayson”

Sapless Fortunes by Dale Brett

Chants of innocuous dreams. Juxtaposed worlds full of images. Nowhere to store these moments but vestigial ingrown pockets. Resultant miniscule sacs swollen with residual blood. Echoes of a thousand Nippon years rasping in my ears. I awake in Queen Himiko’s tomb. Continue reading “Sapless Fortunes by Dale Brett”

Simpering by Shane Jesse Christmass

Human as alien as animal as transformative substance. My gills again. My lungs left behind. The anti-intro that discusses mutations and mutations only. New genes discovered in the side streets of North Inglewood. My personal mental fitness … a direct agency to despair. Psychedelic mathematics … the double helix … organisms occur as new species … desirous selection. Cockroach shells beneath my upper lip. A thousand times a day I vomit in the open hallways. No one sees this sign … let alone someone asking my name. I am not human. Live nude guys on Instagram … the micro-evolution of asexuality … the sticky goo of human bones … a total deterioration of feeling. Continue reading “Simpering by Shane Jesse Christmass”

“… please let him hate you too … ” by Bobbi Lurie

“So you still think you can do it?

So tell me, what did he eat today?

And how much does he weigh?

And how long will he remain a minor?

And you actually believe him?

Stop the talk about his future. We’re talking life or death here. I’ll give you a day to think about it. But that’s it. I can’t give you anymore time than that.

It hardly matters. In New Mexico kids are given most of their rights at fourteen.

Continue reading ““… please let him hate you too … ” by Bobbi Lurie”

Post-Erotic Ritual Text by Mike Corrao

“Memories resurfacing” … “coagulating underneath the meniscus” … “slowly lifting over the crest” … “kino eye gazes down upon my apartment” … “witnesses our inadequate sex” … “the timid approach and delicate placement of your hands” … “there is no good fuck” … “the fragments will have to be assembled later” … “Blondboy” … “Deadboy” … “Oldboy” … “Tommyboy” … “another silhouette waiting over the horizon” … “sunset is green or burgundy” … “they’ve stopped firing rockets in the middle of the night” … “I delay my need for glasses” … “the eye doctor tells me that I can only see the past” … “not what is happening in front of me” … “medical time is organized into a linear model” … “it becomes difficult to project myself” … “smut-maker gives his body to people he does not know” … “he collects these encounters” … “builds an altar from cum and diorite” … “attempts to summon a new boy” … “no more boys” … “stone turns luminous and then returns to normal” Continue reading “Post-Erotic Ritual Text by Mike Corrao”

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