Stories

Ink – Ryan Bry

The rains slant in the sky. A single drop descends and gathers with other droplets near a crow’s heart and then: is flung downward towards Samantha’s silver KIA by its unsteady plumage. It taps on the unemotional windshield, still remembering the warmth of the birdheart, and is wiped away with other unwanted bits of heaven’s tears. It joins the tire spritz as our hero Samantha veers out of the highway lane—and the vehicle buzzes.

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Art

Body Tempo (Earl’s Flow) – Manuel Marrero

(Industrial beat)

I was born in filth so I have my reasons to knock the rot off your jaw run afoul of the law I’m splitting doobies with my self while you get ranked on naw I never been flaw I’m aching bulletproof vest im shaking tryna invest transect infest I’m two shades of grey with a loudmouth cleft you two fades from rekt droolin booty euphemisms on my stained glass erect-ion I’m tryna get my flex uhnm ain’t nothing but a c section baby child of the late 80s raised on formula milk with my twin and some kids they called friends but I’m better off without them I said but no one paid attention til I paid my ho’s rent Will Rogers never made a joke at my expense so who’s to say who gettin dome in heaven the shooters or the looters for dollars and cents been silly since I cultivated some sense and came correct with my forearms bent my posture staggered found a good hill to bury my ills got a bottle of pills to chase the sour taste of race baiting lips and swaying hips while you mollycoddle models that hypnotize a bitch to his first vodka fifth stash it in a satchel light touch firm grip force rip horse whips ass yeah I’ll take that white mane you rode in on and sell it to the nude rider el topo I’m too fast listening to Yoko you slow as 4loko after orange sparks cans on the dashboard I ditched my passport in Paris hopped the turnstile and dashed I’m caught between rails and lurid fantasies of being hunched over your grave with that bag of blowcane and holding your widow’s hand I grew up too fast you a fountain of ash marble statuary piece of assgrabbin’ harassin’ turn the cameras on and flash him while he takin stiff upper lip service management like it ain’t obvious I come with caveats I run with courtyard marriotts and mule driven chariots deliverin islands loans and bourgy camera phones fuck that I’ll draft the ones worth saving exsanguine cored out I’m bored now I’m poppin off targets and loppin off locket chains takin my grandma to get the guillotine’s teeth taken out rearranged fastened to a necklace of silver bullets built a fence called it suspense whatever you wanna call it something else means less Ruby Ridge door hinge and twisted knives at my side bullet in my spine  and I’m walkin upright aright lookin right through you to the shit I found out you lookin right through me wondrin’ when I’ll be around so ima tell you like I told the last and the first this ain’t no pet hobby I’m getting dragged in a hearse to the sears lobbyin catalog you call success I think being a cult writer sucks less blood jets from my sleeper subtext see I learned how to dress the same day I learned what it meant same day I learned how to speak with respect same day I bartered for less than a hellscape of stress,

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Stories

The Kings of Salsa – Isabella Esser-Munera

    For Jimmy, on your wilder nights

 

Martina, Downtown LA, 3pm

 

Well what do you want to do?  Martina texted.

 

I want to get WILD

 

Zoey typed back.

 

Shit. Martina sighed, looking at the clock in the upper right hand side of her laptop.

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Stories

What Type of Cheese are You? – Marisa Crane

Buttcheekbook has fucked me again. A friend shared a Buzzshit quiz, “What Type of Cheese Are You?” along with her results: plain old cheddar. What a lame-o. In order to prove that I am not a lame-o, I have to take the quiz and discover what type of cheese I am. Before it is too late. Before the aliens come down and rescue all of the people with cheese name-tags on,

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