Silent Long-Distance Mail-Order Auction Catalogue Item #20:
BEFORE PREDATION COMES NOTHINGNESS, FLOATING. A FLOTILLA OF DANCERS ON FLOTATION DEVICES. THIS BEING THE ANABOLIC STEROIDAL EDICT EDITION, THERE ARE ONLY 3 LEFT IN STOCK.
Editor’s Note: New Library of Revised Classics Series
Get ready for the future: It is murder, Leonard Cohen sang in 1992. Nearly two decades into the twenty-first century and it is clear that his warning is an understatement. What refuge for the thinking person in the face of the End Times? The classics of the Western canon, of course. But who has the time to plunge the depths of literature in the Instagram era? The aim of the current project is to create a digestible, collectible library to inspire and comfort the spirit, stimulate and disorient the imagination.
Each volume in this tastefully appointed series is the product of judicious, computer-aided pruning, social media/graffiti-friendly quote selection, and apocalyptically-toned imagery. The inaugural Condensed and Illustrated for the End Times offerings will include classic works by Herodotus, Marcus Aurelius, Dante Alighieri, Teresa d’Avila, John Bunyan, and Voltaire. Available individually and by subscription, Spring 2019. Continue reading “The Soul of a Man: A Meditation by Joseph Schreiber”
This page informs you of my policies regarding the collection,
use
and disclosure
of Personal Information I receive.
I use your Personal Information only for mechanical purposes.
By existing, you agree to the collection and use of information in accordance with this policy. Continue reading “Privacy Policy by Germán Sierra”
Prophet of the Sixteenth—what happened over in Vietnam—the BMV of Mr. Monroe found at the bottom of the lake—seaweed that glows at night—waves of pollution—ordering an aperitif with no intent to stay—political turmoil—a concept that is foreign to everyone else in the room but Maurice—fringe benefits—a lawyer from the 90s—the maggots of Deh’N’yyii’l—a metal container overflowing with people—the position of the sun after he drinks the potion—the tusk of an elephant and your uncle who says, African steel—the sound of your heart as you climb the mountain—pastiche moments—Edward saying he is Edwardian—footrace in the middle of the forest with no shoes—snapping zir tibia to teach zir a lesson—valleys of the moon—squeezing the life out of that goldfish just to say you now know what that feels like—some blowtorches covered in Vaseline—a ridiculous amount of knowledge for someone who is only going to live to 53—cliffs at darq—she’s cutting her hand because the daemon said so—the blind man says he hears the waves of despair—there is a hill in Australia and they call it Vanity Hill.
Mike Kleine is a writer and avid player of tennis.
About the banner image: When a new furrow is to be started the derrick raises the plow and the car moves down the track with it to the point where the furrow is to start.
The poetry of the desert is sparse. To locate a poem in the desert you cannot just look, you must smell, touch, hear and taste your surroundings. Never attempt to write about the desert, the result will be too much like writing. These notes form clues as to finding poems in the desert. Whilst the notes may be extensive the poems themselves live a tenuous existence & are barely clinging to life.
Seek out the poems. Continue reading “Notes for poems to be found in the desert by Tony Messenger”
In our ever-accelerating and ambiguous world, the force majeure clause, a standard provision in most legal agreements, becomes more important than ever. Here are three samples, courtesy of LawInsider.com..
1. Force Majeure. In no event shall the Trustee be responsible or liable for any failure or delay in the performance of its obligations hereunder arising out of or caused by, directly or indirectly, forces beyond its control, including, without limitation, strikes, work stoppages, accidents, acts of war or terrorism, civil or military disturbances, nuclear or natural catastrophes or acts of God, and interruptions, loss or malfunctions of utilities, communications or computer (software and hardware) services; it being understood that the Trustee shall use reasonable efforts which are consistent with accepted practices in the banking industry to resume performance as soon as practicable under the circumstances. Continue reading “Farce Majeure by Voima Oy”
Ayuko Fujii (1903–1926)
Ayuko Fujii was born in Berlin; her father was an attaché at the Japanese embassy. She attended a francophone gymnasium, and by age fifteen, she was capable in five languages. Her passion was for English. “It is a funny, cozy language, full of misshapen words,” she wrote in her diary. “Any other language would be ashamed to own a word such as ‘dollop’ or ‘shrub.’ But not English—that is its genius.” Continue reading “Four Minor Modernists by Ryan Napier”
CAPUCHIN CRYPT
After Cordovani’s guide
Bones. Bones. Stack on the clavicles. Bones. Bones.
Gift relic sacred base passageway base sacred relic gift.
Bones. Bones. Stack on the clavicles. Bones. Bones.
Vault coat spin ornamentation spin coat vault.
Bones. Bones. Stack on the clavicles. Bones. Bones.
Circular scythe scale
Cross wall central blades frontal
Floral wrapped thigh wings Continue reading “Placename Triptych by Kelly Gangeness Le”
I seek only the gestures of a lonely ruthless
quest.
To resurrect if only for a day the marvellous
dressed corpse of my desire.
Larvae, moths, necrophors.
To perpetuate the cemetery,
to plaster you with sea-weed,
To open up a gap
and produce a breakdown.
Conroy Maddox – Poem, unpublished. 1941. (written on the cover of a blue notebook [2011?],
ink largely unsuccessful, reproduced here from pen nib pressure marks (by the thin paper, soft 5b pencil rapidly
shading back and forth over indentations method)) Continue reading “Notation by Andrew Robert Hodgson”
“In the end, I would like it to be said that I have been a silent conversationalist with the world, a patient interlocutor devoid of names and arguments, seeking and at odds with, always, the atomic.” — Anton Aubinov, 1998
For a while, he graced a footnote in a biography of Clyfford Still1, removed in subsequent editions, purged as too obscure, adding no value to the lay reader. He is heavily rumored to have been the young artist called a “pissant” by Barnett Newman in a story attached to but never actually recounted by Betty Parsons. He may or may not have been able to do hands.
The late painter Anton Aubinov remained near-hidden throughout his career, subsumed into the greater wave of late American abstraction. His lone New York exhibition, at a here-today-gone-tomorrow space in Chelsea in 1952, was thrown together to capitalize on the recent fame of Mark Rothko, who had displayed, for the first time, his multiforms the year before. As the story of Aubinov’s opening goes, the drywall on which his works were mounted had been improperly adhered to the concrete casing, and the collapse of one wall was the subject of much of the subsequent press. So it went, so frequently. Continue reading “The New Atomist: A Selection from the Catalogue Raisonné of Anton Aubinov by Joshua Rothes”
Burning House Press are excited to welcome JOHN TREFRY as our seventh guest editor! John will take over editorship of Burning House Press online for the full month of August.
Submissions for John are open from today – 1st August and will remain open until 24th August.
John’s Theme for the month is as follows
NON-NONFICTION
Continue reading “August 2018 Guest Editor Is JOHN TREFRY!!! Theme: NON-NONFICTION”
Burning House Press would like to thank July’s Guest Editor Lara Alonso Corona for selecting a fantastic theme in // B O D I E S // – and for all of the endeavour and hard work that has gone into selecting/curating/presenting the contributions received over the month – there was a high volume of submissions and Lara has dealt with the editorial duties and challenges with great grace, diligence and expertise – THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING, LARA!!!
Massive thank you also goes to everyone who contributed to Lara’s theme and continues to send BHP your writing and art – we are so happy and grateful that you entrust us with your work, thank you!!! xX
Here it is, the B O D I E S edition – every selection in one place for you to read/peruse – enjoy!!! xX Continue reading “B O D I E S // E D I T I O N – SELECTED/CURATED/PRESENTED BY JULY 2018 GUEST EDITOR LARA ALONSO CORONA”
‘Cause I am not this body
that imprisons me.
-The Mountains Goats, Isaiah 45:23
Cocaine aspect ratio move out I want to see it in full
lonely breakwater, lonely pebblebeach storming
over the underpass like a ghost of a girl knocked by
the wind, cocaine aspect ratio move in to see the detail
on your sullen face, the way your eyes move from
floor, to wall, to door, to garden, to windowpane Continue reading “The Only Trans Girl at the Party II by Alison Rumfitt”
I know you are tired of hearing me talk about my complexion. How I quiver when I flow out of my house with a tabula rasa and see skins recoil with revulsion. Some do it with fear, others point, ripple, and giggle and call me dirty, ugly, but quite pretty for my race. My face. My hair. Oh! She’s surprised that my dreads smell great. Who would ever have thought that anyone with dreadlocks could smell so nice! I know you are tired of hearing me talk about how the gatekeepers of this world have a different set of hoops set aside purposely for those packaged like me to leap through. How like the video games I play, there is always a higher hoop to scale, impossible levels to complete… so I can enter your countries, so I can enter your schools, so I can find love, so I can get a job, so I can dance like you. Continue reading “They Think Me Dirty by Mercy Ananeh-Frempong”
The olfactory bulb feeds directly into the limbic system, the seat of both long-term memory and the emotions. The results of smelling are processed here, and loaded with associations, before they even reach the upper cortex, where language is composed.
NOTES ON SCENT
Adam Jasper and Nadia Wagner Continue reading “The Unrecalled by Rita Hynes”
I stand in the shower and let the water pound against the knot in my neck until the spasm seems so strong I register pain before terror. Every possible nerve I can find rests against the jarring freeze of the granite. Water drenches my arms, face, and stretch-marked body – kissing parts of me I used to reserve for your masochistic ego. Continue reading “Translations of a Post-Apocalyptic Love by Jessica Ciccarelli”
Body a fragile thing
burgeoned by words Continue reading “When the Sickness is a Permanent Physical Thing by Gervanna Stephens”
BURNING HOUSE PRESS 
Gov’t Queries by Katherine DeCoste
During the purplest midnight the time comes to repurpose and scavenge the deepest recesses of the pancreas, sugar-processor and liquefier, mushy and shapeless, which is the least necessary of every twinkling lump of flesh under the round belly. This is major surgery.
A procedure is in order, to be followed precisely.
First, wetness settles: stretch in it, breathe it and swell up, an oversalted fish. Water is made up of many parts and layers: the sunlight, the twilight, and the midnight. The operation must be completed in the dim part where dust particles are zooplankton and speak with urgency to each visitor. Dust spins through air, little animals through water. Dust is silent, but the ocean buzzes and they wiggle their weak legs, incapable of standing.
Second, the endemic, veined skin is stickily plastered onto the inner red eyelids. Bodies are simple, paper-maiche collections of wallpaper. Outside, floral patterns. Inside, the abdominal organs all run together—root around until you find the one you’re removing. It’s easiest with closed eyes.
Third, the sea grows weary of pressing and pressure fades but darkness doesn’t.
Fourthly, the patient will grow distressed as you sever their energy-delivery-system. Explain it like this: I had the bends once and an angel appeared. She glowed brightly in the midnight zone. Said, “we’ve carbonated your bloodstream and these are not simple growing pains. There are impassable meters between you and the heavenly sphere spinning.” Around my finger she tied a white ribbon glowing green in her eerie radioactivity—it read, “eat me.”
Finally they will need to be sustained somehow—choke down sugared green Jell-O and butterscotch pudding cups. Only foods that wobble and can only be partially-chewed are acceptable. The fluorescent lights never fully go off in the hall. Force jittery insulin into their veins.
Katherine DeCoste is a writer and undergraduate English student in Edmonton, Alberta. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Sybil Journal, Rag Queen Periodical, Structural Damage, and others. She likes to write about anxiety, dissociation, and decay. You can find her @katydecoste on Twitter and Instagram.
About the banner image: The operating room orderly, a 1-W, Voluntary Service worker, wheels a patient from the elevator to the operating room. VS workers in the Mennonite Hospital at La Junta, Colo., contribute much through their sacrificial service.
Share this: