Tumbling down the rabbit hole, lights out
And I remember I am not my mother —
Arms out straight in this darkness, the switch
Is a brutal one: on/off sane/insane
The voice I hear belongs to a stranger
She is a lonely angel; how have I never
Accepted her? Each night: a knife to her
Throat; each day… a gloss veneer Continue reading “Breathing Underwater by Amanda McLeod and Elisabeth Horan”
The Text
Eventually, I will join myself in absence. “Living among things designed to dispossess me.” I watch TV at my father’s house. A future stratified by the “logical extremes” of “extrapolation, spectacle, virtualization, and ‘entertainment.’” The poor of us are less than bodies – data dredged by fetishists, exploiting flesh through pixels with the polarity of water. Color dissolved in hair and skin, motion frozen and screen-grabbed. “A self-deforming cast.” I’m watching Epix – Epix Hits. Passive, like my, titillation – flaccid and cumless, edging le petite mort through RPGs and online banking. My reality colloids apart. Under a sun of milk and flour. I try absorbing language in order to feel heavier, but “everything flows… no… …thing to sink.” Without seeing the screen one only sees a prolapsed glow, splattered on the wall, across the floor. The blue light referencing abandonment. The face no longer clings viscid when split-open. Employ a digital cenotaph while I look for my body. Maybe language. Maybe language. If I can absorb it. It dissolves. Continue reading “The Text in Various Forms by Bryce Jones”
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”
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”
Inspired by Salvador Dalí’s illustrations for ‘Alice in Wonderland’.
Call up your dead ones,
let ‘em know where they buried their bones,
shit isn’t meant to be,
just manifest what is into being,
muster up the strength to leave the apartment,
anxiety used to be hell without drugs,
now we’re walking clean, clean, clean and clean with meaning,
pretentious former addicts pissing off the weekend warrior drunks who want to piss the bed in peace.
All the apples of the family tree
convinced they’re not as rotten as me,
drink yourself under the table
playing footsie with sobriety.
I’ve been to Europe loads of times and it has a lot to offer.
I’ve been to Venice and Paris, been skiing once but it hurt and was expensive.
I’ve been down the Algarve, classier than the Spanish resorts.
There’s a lot in Europe to recommend; food, especially in Italy.
Only a liar would claim pizza hasn’t become a teatime staple,
And I know it’s giant cheese on toast with ketchup, but it’s better than that makes it sound.
I eat a plate of pasta most weeks, sauce out the jar, on the hob ten minutes, easy.
The Italians do food well, but it’s sad most of the world thinks they do it better than us.
Is a pizza or a pie and mash better on a wet winter’s night?
I’d hit anyone who tried to give me salad instead of stew in the lake district, our North.
An Invention p.20, 2019, ink and pastel on paper.
Continue reading “Three pages from An Invention by Brian Baker”
BURNING HOUSE PRESS 