BlazeVOX15 - A Journal of Poetry and Voice - Spring 15

an online journal of voice
Spring 2015
GH
BLAZEVOX[BOOKS]
Buffalo, New York
BlazeVOX 15 | an online journal of voice

Copyright 2015
Published by BlazeVOX [books]
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without
the publishers written permission, except for brief quotations in reviews.
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition
BlazeVOX [books]
Geoffrey Gatza
131 Euclid Ave
Kenmore, NY 14217
Editor@blazevox.org
p ublisher of weird little books
BlazeVOX [ books ]
blazevox.org
21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10
Spring 2015
Table of Contents
Poetry
Anne Gorrick
Barbara Henning
Cynthia Ring
Colin Campbell Robinson
Daniel Y. Harris
j4
Jim Kincaid
John Rigney
Josh Smith
Kelli Rush
Mark Young
Maxwell Gontarek
Daniel Morris
Natsuko Hirata
Wade Stevenson
Paul Dickey
Sudha Srivatsan
Robert Wexelblatt
S. M. Hutton
Robert Sheppard
Sophia Pandeya
Nickolas Maynard
Zachary Scott Hamilton
Spencer Dew
Mirline Petit-Frere
Michael Paul Hogan
Aryan Kaganof
Billy Cancel
Charles Borkhuis
Clare Holman-Hobbs
Gregory Prendergast
Jake Grieco
Jefferson Hansen
Jorge Lucio de Campos
Kurt Cline
Mark Cunningham
Maureen Mulhern
Michele F Sweeney
Naomi Buck Palagi
Nicholas Alexander Hayes
Parker Weston
Peter Donnelly
Raymond Farr
Roger Craik
Scott Penney
Simon Perchik
Stephanie Kaylor
Valerie Smith
Robert Lietz
Nick Monks
Linda King
Ronal Shiner
Fiction
A Perfect Mind (1272 BCE) by Janet Mason
Than Since When I Left by Jordana Meade
Rabbit Suit by Julia Lynn Rubin
Lake Luzern by Philip Bowne
Nothing Touches by Vincent Craig Wright
Sebastian's Suit by Nat Buchbinder
Through Cornfields and the Backroads Along the Cornfields by Michael Martrich
Crushin by Kyle A. Valenta
The Wrangler by Alex Neely
Selection from the novel Throw Away the Lights by Christopher Brownsword
Disraeli Gears by Christopher Lyke
Colonial State of Mind by Madiha Kahn
Text Art
Trolls
hiromi suzuki
three-piece text art series entitled 'un-brushed'

bruno neiva
Creative Non-Fiction & Reviews

Odd Ball by Adreyo Sen
Butterfly by Shailee Perry
The Entanglements of Ropes
By poet W. Scott Howard and artist Ginger Knowlton
Reviewed by Rich Murphy
A Year Before 9/11
Fifteen years of BlazeVOX
By Geoffrey Gatza
15 Questions | Interviews with BlazeVOX Authors

Deborah Meadows interviewed on her new book Three Plays
Seth Abramson interviewed on his new book Metamericana
Luke McMullan interviewed on his new book Dolphin Aria/Limited Hours: A Love Song.
Laura Madeline Wiseman interviewed on her new book Drink
I Goldfarb interviewed on his new book K- a 21st Century Canzoniere
Acta Biographia Author Biographies
New Releases from BlazeVOX Books

As Visuality by Anne Gorrick
In Anne Gorricks richly-faceted collection As Visuality, found texts are held up to
the light and transformed into energies that cant be contained by convention: Origin
and then form conforms to our interest. This is the work of a highly-engaged
intelligence, and Gorrick has made her own system by moving through the world with
the given that this, too, is poetry. Here, it is color not darkness that surrounds
us. What a beautiful place she has made.
Carolyn Guinzio
Explore more here
Against Misanthropy, A Life in Poetry (2015-1995) by Eileen R. Tabios

2015 marks the 20th year anniversary of Eileen R. Tabios career switch from
banking to poetry. AGAINST MISANTHROPY presents her life as a self-educated
poetfrom, as a newbie poet, reading through all of the poetry books of her local
Barnes and Noble as she scratched her head over what poetry is supposed to be to
more recently creating a poetry generator capable of making poems without additional
authorial intervention. Along her journey, she also released about 30 poetry
collections, two fiction books and four prose collections with the help of publishers
in eight countries. Ultimately, however, her so far 20-year poetry journey has taught
her that poetrys greatest gift is the means by which to forge a new life as a better
person. As one of her Facebook friends Maxwell Clark told her, and she agrees, The
best person is the best poet.
Read Preview here | Explore more here
Apollo by Geoffrey Gatza

It has often been said that Marcel Duchamp gave up art for chess. Geoffrey Gatza has
reversed the process, and produced a sumptuous souvenir program of a
performance of Stravinsky's ballet Apollo, framed by an elaborately-plotted chess game
between Duchamp and his female alter-ego, Rose Selavy. The results are stunning.
John Ashbery
An Argument of Roots by Cornelia Veenendaal

This extra-ordinary poet is at once companionable with the natural world and
wonderfully awake to the daily surprises of the city; a poet who is almost painfully
attuned to the beauty that sustains us and mindful of the terrors that threaten to fell us.
Over and over, Veenendaal's poems cause us to stumble upon the quotidian the way
we might catch a toe on a forest snag or trip on a loose brick in the sidewalk or lurch
with the sudden braking of a T car. Once we've stumbled, each poem says, Wait a
moment Look. .... I am quietly amazed and grateful that, like the emperor's cricket,
Veenendaal is here still,/ scraping [her] colors on the hours.
Marie Harris; NH Poet Laureate, 1999-2004
DRINK By Laura Madeline Wiseman

Witty, sad, tragic, and magical, the poems in Drink both rewrite myths of the sea and
present a harrowing vision of a childhood fraught with abuse, alcoholism, and poverty.
The result is a collection of poems that shimmer with revelatory beauty, longing, and
honesty. Clearly Wiseman is one of the more unique and inspired new voices on the
American poetry scene today.
Nin Andrews
Going With The Flow by Peter Siedlecki

With wry honesty and impressive skill, Peter Siedlecki contemplates aging and what
will follow it. Yet the inevitably dark end of the life flow is punctuated here by the
light of stars and beautiful women, jazz greats and baseball virtuosi, and the many
vivid musings that make this book a celebration of life.
Joan Murray
K- A 21st Century Canzoniere by I Goldfarb

Goldfarb makes Dante's platonic love sensiblehis use of the Muse indispensable. If
"Muse" is in both "amuse" and "museum," the work passes muster with both. The
reader, not necessarily the Muse, ends up falling in love with this poetwith his
gentle nature, his genteel old-fashioned wrestling with desire & insistence on feelings
having presence & bodywithout flesh. Goldfarb makes the reader into a poetrysensitive nymphette.
Andrei Codrescu, author of So Recently Rent a World: New and Selected Poems
Metamericana by Seth Abramson

"America has been awaiting the arrival of a poet like this for a generation."
Barn Owl Review
"A major American voice."
Colorado Review
Minnows Small as Sixteenth Notes- The Collected Poems of Norma Kassirer

Your belief in transcendent linguistic delight may have faded long ago but Norma
Kassirers inexhaustible poetic universe will never fail to change you. Kassirer is
dedicated to languages folds and revelations and to what might be called a postbiblical garden of wit. Her eye is part Victorian lamppost, part timeless moon; and her
ear confirms that magic still hums through our busy grief, our storms and stress. Read
her and live.
Janet Kaplan, author of Dreamlife of a Philanthropist
Scorched Altar- Selected Poems & Stories By Kristina Marie Darling

It is in the very restlessness of her metaphors that Kristina Darling documents a
tangible faith. Such restlessness is trustworthy and always, throughout Scorched
Altar, both vital and in plain view. Here are truthful experiments. Here is a new
tradition, alive in bright air.
Donald Revell
Showgirls The Movie in Sestinas by Jeffery Conway

How can we know the dancer from the dance? W. B. Yeats famously asks in
Among School Children. Jeffery Conways cornucopia of poetic DVD
commentary encircles that unanswerable question. Calling to the stage the goldglittered divas of Showgirls, Conway uses the sestinas circular dance to celebrate
each frame of cinemas campiest of stripper films.
Daniel Nester
Starlight- 150 Poems by John Tranter

John Tranter's Starlight: 150 poems quite literally 'makes it new' - whether 'it' is
Eliot's 'Four Quartets', Hitchcock's 'Vertigo' or Baudelaire's Les Fleurs du mal. In
Tranter's hands these classics evolve into new creatures with shiny new claws and
fangs.
This is one poetry book you will want to keep reading!
Rae Armantrout
The Arctic Circle by Kristina Marie Darling

Two brides crystalize into one entity then split, climatic conditions echo and advance
deeply lodged psycho-somatic realitiesThe Arctic Circle is a cautionary tale about
flawed repetition and imprisoned categories of sex. Operating simultaneously as
interior and exterior drama, these icy prose poems move as if from the caged,
claustrophobic bedroom presented in Charlotte Perkins Gilmans The Yellow
Wallpaper to an outer ecology that moves from house (the body) to an exorbitant
surrounding environment (the social). Kristina Darlings fable resists disintegration,
challenging instead a forceful awareness. The dynamics here do not permit abjection
to pulverize presence.
Brenda Iijima
Those Godawful Streets of Man by Stephen Bett

This is an edgy, raw, harsh, gritty book about the contemporary cityscapeits block
buildings; its loose, naked, spitting live wires; its plugged-in populace. A place where
Borderliners, leeches, zombies, and drains fight it out over a man and a woman
locked in a death grip.
Three Plays by Deborah Meadows

Lifes A Los Angeles-based play, Guide Dogs rejects the triad of smog, traffic, and
earthquakes for an exploration of reading and interpretation through civic unrest at
city hall, the texts of LA figures (literary critic Marjorie Perloff and social critic Mike
Davis), and the Lightning Field by Walter de Maria. Some Cars, an embodiment,
holds out against the architecture of containment, inflecting the hard surface of
Kienholzs art in a drive to uncover tragic action deferred through a small
windshield, imperfectly. Speech Acts with Trees is an inside-out Western that takes
apart narrow specializations with commanding views, landscape tradition and
conquest. Is a parable of sacrifice an obsolete railroad by the time conventional
knowledge sets up shop in the new town? Are these Three Plays really one play
along a topological fold?
Two Books on the GasAbove the Shale and Achieved by Kissing

By Jared Schickling
In these Two Books on The Gas, Schickling engages us with a scintillating
exploration of how the affective waste need not be merely contained and managed,
but how it can be projected outaway towards a new Human Chronos of
Possibility. This passionate, devoted tourney of recalc, brooks no compromises with
either political brink pragmatists nor with apocalypticisms of any brand, threading
instead a fully realized Eros of poetic illumination borne of the same materiality from
which this Republic of Fuel is, for all to see, falling. People (and thus poetics) are
rising. Rodrigo Toscano
an online journal of voice
Spring 2015
GH
Spring 2015
IntroductionIntroduction
Hello and welcome to the Spring issue of BlazeVOX
15. Presented here is a world-class issue featuring
poetry, art, fiction, and an arresting work of creative
non-fiction, written by authors from around globe.
Happy Fifteenth Anniversary to BlazeVOX!!!

Hip Hip, Hurray!!
Hip Hip, Hurray!!
Hip Hip, Hurray!!
I have been sitting at my desk typing away on my large
screened apple computer dreading what I am about to
write. BlazeVOX is now in its 15th year of operation.
We have great moments to look back upon in our
history, as well as some moments that bear careful
consideration. It seems incredible to me that we are
not merely still in operation we are vividly alive!
The BlazeVOX journal developed out of a Daemen College arts journal that was published exclusively online; in
1999 that was a radical thing to do. But today happily, an online journal is the norm.
In 2000 BlazeVOX was born as an online journal from a computer that I used in the college computer lab. I did not
have a PC in my home. After a summer of hard work, our first issue was released in the fall. We have had a
continual run ever since. We have a full archive of all our back-issues on our webpage; so do spend some time
flipping though the 15 years of BlazeVOX an.journal.of.voice.
As I look back at the time that has passed I am enthusiastic, even though an irksome form of nostalgia bothers me.
In an effort to alleviate these feelings I decided to create a mundane list poem to parse out what occurred during
this time. I appropriated news headlines from the past fifteen years in order to make a small, easy-going poem to
chuckle over. However, when the piece was complete, that poem turned into 70 pages of compelling halfmemories, or I should say memories that provoked memories of things that I did experienced while news was
happening around journalism. As we wrote poetry a lot of life happened. Have a look for yourself:
A Year Before 9/11: Fifteen years of BlazeVOX
To commemorate who we are at 15 we plan to celebrate. We are planning to have some special events throughout
the year. We plan to have readings, videos and even a party sometime in the fall. Keep an eye out for your invitation
it will be a year to revel!
And before I go, I would like to thank you all for your wonderful support over the years. You are an important part
this press and your help makes a real difference in getting innovative works by undervalued writers read worldwide.
Your act of reading our work is incredibly helpful means so much to me but even more to BlazeVOX authors
whose work might not see the light of day without your giving us a part of your time, a part of your day! We thank
you a thousand times.
Rockets, Geoffrey
Spring 2015
Jefferson Hansen
Will
no longer
the same
as the still memory
neither the mismemory
the place is no longer
the memory of
it the mismemory
after dissolution something may
beckon &
(apocalypse only happens
once)
a growth may
will emerge
faith only in the word
will
faith only
The Moon Exists for Poetry

The moon exists for poetry.
As the grass is green for poetry
and the ocean, of course,
pure blue.
You know.
And the mountains are high
and the cold air sharp
and the suffering at a perfect pitch,
for poetry.
For poetry earth is clay
and loam and grey granite,
the clouds are white puffs
against pure azure
for poetry. For poetry
the light is my mind
is the dawn is the very
cusp of dawn when sun
spears between tree trunks across
the meadow. All for poetry.
All.
We never named a world into being.
We cannot talk or write
categories equal to the sublimity
we sing
wordlessly
a world
into being.
You hear most honestly not
in your second or third
language but one as foreign
as a flat white earth.
In its bursts and shards
of melody
its easy awkward crawls into waves and reverberations,
its lack of a clear
beat
but a discernible one nonetheless,
you finally hear as you always have but didnt know.
Poetry can be this song,

too
if youd only shut up
and listen to what
you dont
and cant ever know.
This language exists for poetry
and up my hand
goes to my mouth
when your falsely
wizened words catch at all
I thought I must
have
for now.
And this wasnt language but poetry
embodied in a gesture
learned in some forgotten cave
that is buried in the banks of an old
slow river,
today less current than infinite eddies easing away in a general direction.
I am mostly my forgettings
which slowly elongate
from misremembered ceilings
and drip
to a gathering,
that then elongates up, toward
that ceiling. I claim
to know in
my not remembering
of a process
in a time
almost closed. The little
opening is all that matters
for this practicality,
this getting a hand
to a mouth
in time
not of my making.
And that is a poetry,
the forgotten and misremembered,
the embodied way we
etch our path into air
or wind
or breeze.
The purest poetry has no words
is a singer throating forth
for the sake of
the ecstasy
of throating itself.
Poetry never shuts up because it cant get where its going
cant go back to where
it never was.
We forget our greatest intimacies
into the very possibility
of response,
one that depends and holds
only for those forgettings,
this poetry,
emerging from silent forgettings,
filaments flung across the
ether of what could have
been, working only for
the spaces,
the emptiness.
A Freedom
The brain is mostly water.
The skin, the liver, the heart
mostly water.
Our tide turns with the moon.
We turn with laws more
fundamental
than any clock
eroding the under layer of skin.
Eroding the outer layer of liver.
Pushing and pulling the inside of heart.
We drip
our way away.
This is not water torture.
This is how we see the impossible
yet possible yellow of a goldfinch
in the distance
behind bare twigs.
This is how we notice
a car coming
too fast to allow us
to cross the street.
Knowledge emerges from the wash.
The wash erodes and chisels knowledge.
We drip without
knowing
and that is a kind of knowledge,
hiding enough
to drip into the light.
All light must falter.
We falter into the drip.
We falter into knowing
the deepest knowing
is accidental
and fated, a law that pulls us
where we have
to go.
A regret is simply wishing
the water went
in a different direction..
In this there is no room for freedom

as usually understood.
There is only room
for letting go,
for allowing the water its rapids
its stills,
its eddies
and currents.
Even fetid stagnation has its possibilities,
no matter how distasteful.
The clouds hang low in the sky
this rainy day.
My internal feels on its own
the low barometric.
A bird calls, another answers
in and against this heavy
day.
We are so much less than we suppose.
Another species starts another call.
Spring 2015
Janet Mason
A Perfect Mind
(1272 BCE)
"It is not too late." Tamar reached up and took Judith's hand. "You can still conceive a daughter."
"How?" said Judith. "I am almost to the end of my bleeding time. I will do anything."
"First, you have to examine your mind. You must also look closely at your actions. You have to stop
talking about your husband and sons. You have to take off the silver necklaces." Tamar saw the look of
horror on Judith's face.
"But who am I without my husbands and sons? They are everything to me -- even though my husband
barely looks at me, and my sons never listen to me."
Tamar nodded. Judith didn't have to tell her this. She already knew. She was at peace as she opened
her mouth and uttered words she had never heard before. She could feel, deep within her, that these words
were true: "You are yourself; you are the first and the last; you are the honored one and the scorned one; you
are the whore and the holy one; you are the wife and the virgin; you are the mother and the daughter; you
are the barren one; and many are your sons; you are the silence that is incomprehensible; you are the
utterance of your name."
Tamar didn't know where she had heard these words before or where they had come from. They had
echoed through her, a truth about Judith. She was all of these things and more. She liked the sound of these
words. She would have to remember to write them down later.
Judith looked at Tamar and nodded. Tamar looked at the light in Judith's eyes -- and saw her beauty.
There was not much light in the tent -- only from the one oil lamp and the desert sunset that filtered through
the opening above the pole in the center of the tent. Judith's eyes caught the light and cast it back. Her long
dark hair shone. Her oval face held the luster of dark olives. Tamar knew that the things that were
undefined were larger than Judith's existence as a wife and mother. And she knew that Judith was ready to
know her own greatness.
All Judith had to do to fly was to let go of the past and to catch Tamar's words in mid-air. But she
wasn't ready -- yet.
"The necklaces are all I have to show my accomplishments. "
"Just put them away for a while. You can always put them back on later," answered Tamar. "Every day, in the
morning, sit and breath for a while -- at least until the sun shifts. Let go of the outside voices that say you are
less than. These voices might come from your husband, from your sons. They might be the voices of the
women in the marketplace. They might be everything that was told to you since you were a girl. But you
have your own inner voice. And that voice will free you."
"Okay," said Judith. "How do I start?"
Tamar smiled serenely.
"Sit down with me," she said. Tamar sat cross legged on one of the folded camel hair blankets.
"Remember several growing seasons ago, when Leah brought the scroll that had been passed onto her
and we sat and watched our breath and listened to the sound of "OM?"
Judith nodded. "We started every ritual after that with watching out breath and making the sound,"
said Judith.
"Yes," said Tamar. "And remember Leah and I said that it was good to start every day with a practice of
quietness -- of watching our breath until the thoughts in our own minds go away and we are emptied. This
way we are making a space for your own voice."
"I remember that Leah suggested that we do this at home in our own tents. But I have too much to do
to practice. Besides, I don't have that much privacy and my husband and sons would wonder what I am
doing."
"We can do it right now," said Tamar.
"Wait a minute. Tell me about the scroll. Where did it come from?"
Tamar looked at Judith.
"The teachings of the scroll are not outlawed," said Tamar. The voice in her head said Yet.
This was true, but Tamar was wise enough to be protective of the scroll. "But no one knows of its
existence. And because it does not acknowledge the one God, it will surely be destroyed if anyone finds out
about it. You really want to have a daughter, right?"
"More than anything."
"First, you must promise not to tell anyone about the scroll -- not your husband and not Jacob and
Samuel at the village well. Not anyone."
"I promise," replied Judith.
"Leah has a friend that she has known for many years, almost as long as she has been in our goddess
cult. This friend has a friend who had gone to the South of India and he brought back the scroll in a clay jar
that her friend bought and gave to her. The man who had travelled to India was trading in scents and
perfumes and creams. He sells his wares to the Nabataeans, the desert nomads in North Arabia."
"I've heard of the Nabataeans," said Judith. "But not good things. They worship many gods, not the one
God. My husbands and sons say that they are bad and to stay away from them when they sell their scents at
the market."
"And do you always do what your husband and sons say?"
"I say that I do," admitted Judith as she sat down on a folded blanket and faced Tamar. "But I bought
some jars of Egyptian water lily scented cream from them. I use it on myself between the few times each
week when I bathe. It really does soften my skin. The scent is delicate and fragrant. I keep the jar hidden.
Bram doesn't notice the smell and neither do my sons."
"See. You know how to keep something to yourself when it suits you."
Judith nodded. "Yes, I can keep a secret."
"Then you must keep the secret of the scroll. And do not tell anyone that you want to conceive a
daughter," said Tamar.
"I know that," said Judith. "I learned when I was a girl not to say I wanted a daughter. Mother taught
me that women only pray for sons and those who pray for daughters never get what they want."
"That is what we are taught," said Tamar. "But all prayer doesn't have to be that way. This scroll talks
about a religion that worships the feminine. And by sitting quietly and noticing our breath, by feeling our
oneness and saying the first sound of creation, 'OM,' we can remove all obstacles because they begin in the
mind."
"But is feeling our oneness the same as worshipping the one God?" asked Judith.
"I think it is the same, but others may not agree," said Tamar. She knew that if Judith felt bad about
betraying the one God, she would have a hard time removing the obstacles that blocked the conception of a
daughter. But Tamar was also telling Judith what she knew in her heart to be true.
Judith nodded.
"Just remember," said Tamar. "To pray not only for yourself. Yes, you want a daughter more than
anything, but you want to give birth to a daughter who can help others as well. You want a daughter who
will make the land better when she walks upon it. You want a daughter because she will bring happiness, joy
and peace to all who look upon her.
"I hadn't thought of that," said Judith. "But you are right. My daughter will bring happiness to others.
And she will make our land a better place."
"That's right," whispered Judith.
The two women faced each other and breathed deeply.
"We'll start with 'OM,' the first sound that came out of the great void, that embraces all that exists and
that has no beginning and no ending, the name of God," said Tamar.
"But is He our God?" asked Judith. "Our one God?"
Tamar shrugged. "Some would say so. Others would say not. And others would say that this God is not
a He or a She. This God is a vibration, the sound of the brightest stars as they shoot across the desert night
sky, the shifting of the grains of sand that make up the endless expanse of the desert and the song of the
wind as it sculpts the sand."
"I see," replied Judith. "This is the same as the one God, but different. OM is the sound of creation. Yet
the one God is said to have made everything. I remember my mother telling me the stories. The words lulled
me to sleep then. Even now they move me. But my mother told me that Adam and Eve were banished from
the Garden of Eden because Eve listened to the serpent and ate the forbidden fruit and then convinced her
husband to have some."
Judith laughed abruptly and said, "as if serpents could talk!"
Tamar nodded. "Some of the stories are outlandish. And I hope they're not all true -- like the story
about Lot after his wife was turned to a pillar of salt and he went to the desert of Zoar with his two daughters
and since there were no other men they populated the nations of Moab and Ammon."
"Yes. The tale of God burning down the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah but then letting Lot lay with his
daughters always troubled me," replied Judith.
"It is troubling," said Tamar.
"Perhaps that is why God gave me sons when I prayed for a daughter," said Judith. "And now that I have
been praying for a daughter night and day, I have not conceived. Although I haven't laid with Bram in many
growing seasons. He says there is no reason since we already have six sons. But to tell you the truth, I do not
miss laying with him."
"Hmmm," replied Tamar. "It does not matter if you lay with Bram or not. If fact, it is better not to do the
same old things. Conception starts in your mind -- and then your womb."
Judith nodded. I am beginning to understand.
"And you are right -- OM and the one God are different but the same," said Tamar.
"But I already prayed to the one God and only conceived sons," said Judith.
"Then it will be okay to pray differently," replied Tamar. She shifted on her blanket.
"That makes sense," said Judith. Her long dark lashes brushed her face as she closed her eyes.
"We will start with three OMs," said Tamar. "The first sound of creation."
"OM," said Judith.
"OM," echoed Tamar.
Together their incantation was larger than it would have been if each of them was chanting alone. As
Tamar breathed in and out, she pictured a golden light around Judith. It pulsated like the haze around the
sun.
Both of them breathed in and out. Sometimes they chanted and other times they were silent. After a
time, Tamar felt her vision penetrate Judith's mind. She could see into her mind. It was ablaze with white
light. There was a child there and the child was holy. Wise men would bow down to her. She was all they
had ever wanted -- Tamar and Judith. Tamar and Judith were friends. More than that, Tamar was Judith's
counselor and healer. She knew the old ways. Judith came to her goddess cult. Tamar wanted Judith to bear
this child. She was sure of it. Her intention was in Judith's mind. Then it was lower, in her womb. She saw
an embryo forming in a blaze of light.
"Just remember that you are made from light," said Tamar softly. "The same light and water that the
hyssop that grows in the desert is made from. And your daughter, too, will be created from light."
Spring 2015
Jake Grieco
Ode To Kanye Wests Dick
What is it like to be the gilded cock of a pharaoh?

Are you flattered by how much he writes to you?
How he doesnt need pussy because he has you?
Kanye Wests Dick, are you happy with this?
Is there ever tenderness in the way he rubs you?
Does he wash you in the shower or are you left
to get wet, like you are all the time from the insides
of white and black women without discrimination.
Have you ever made love, Kanye Wests Dick?
Or do you just come and go without feeling
Some sense of comfort, some reminiscence of home
Do you ever feel like you never want to get off
Because this rhythm, because this warmth?
Youre a prick, Kanye Wests Dick, Im sure of it
But your heads in the right place. Im picturing

Your flaccid slumber snug in the crotch of skinny jeans,
A descendant of mans first dick, just like my dick
Just like all the other dicks that will never know
The feeling of Prada, but are the same dicks that
Samurais carried, that Gladiators wielded nights
Before their death in both black and white women
Indiscriminately.
Capitoline Wolf Statue, Cincinnati

Between the swollen tits
Of a she-wolf
Between the suckling infant lips
Of Romulus and Reemus
Is your iphone 5s
Pointed at the backs of the babes
Bronze heads
Capturing all angles of Mousselines
Only gift to Cincinnati, Ohio
In 1929, for the Sons of Italy National Convention
According to Wikipedia,
You tell me from behind your phone.
Cincinnati is a sister city of Rome
A fellow City of Seven Hills located on the bend of a river
Grown by pigs instead of Caesars,
I add.
The city you and I were born into
When the world was finished laying bricks
And Jupiter, Aries and Mars arent gods
But myths as powerful as Little Red Riding Hood
The big wolf eyes of the statue wide and worried
Shes questioning whether all life deserves to be saved,
I say.
Symbolic expression or any deep shit isnt a requirement
For the assignment,
You remind me.
Then move back to where the car is parked
Its the first Sunday of November and getting cold
The headlights are pouring over the horizon
As the stars show up for their shift in the sky.
You start your PT Cruiser
And we leave Rome for anyone else,
And head home.
Sometimes I Feel Like Not Much

Its not a lot
But sometimes
I feel like not much
Like just a bunch
Of stuff
And just enough
To be a thing
Like us things are
Sometimes I rate
Barely past the bar
To define something as was or are
alive or not living
And thats cool.
It happens.
Everyone feels not all there
Sometimes
We all feel like I do
Or you do or we do
Im sure one day
Ive felt just like you
And one day

Youve felt like me too
Its not much
But enough
To keep myself in love
With every human I can touch
My hands slipped
Between their ribs
All their stuff in my grip
I hope I can make it a bit easier to live
Spring 2015
J4
j4 is a collective of four persons, all given names beginning with j, who are compelled to explore
transindividual composition
_________________________________Sprezzatura!
Accordingly we may affirm that to be true art which does not

appear to be art; nor to anything must we give greater care
than to conceal art, for if it is discovered, it quite destroys our
credit and brings us into small esteem.!
!
Baldassare Castiglione
a j4 poem
!
1.
the sincerity of sperm on skin isn't a comic book.
[frontispiece: in sky norms
edit me out of this [edit me out of this] in a city called __________

feed: outshit/omits]
effervescently accept, flourish in waves of almost brown & fire hydrant
cancels very pet effects
skulk about the dim window, painless and eager,
[oak but sulk]
we beneath seasons, beneath trouble and alert,
banshee teases own
squirming before an alarm and dude
maana gerbil risque from
schooled in tilted droning scary chairs, almost pointed at
root decoded, shinning lilt
Sacramento blues ink on the sidewalls until it bleeds up into
sombrest lacunae
cinder
blocks1,
empty buildings. Sarcasm Avenue a bliss to treasure

bed slick corn
everything looks in at your expanding eroding parts, rub

televising honky or
a dub til the totally sucks
tubal id
goo thru an artsy version of fluid mechanics
rahs to nugatory
I find my own edge inside of you every other moment
defog windy mien
its limitation is constraint, a surfboard in Arizona
imitation slit
a tidal logistic, if you question Dianetics with cakes of light, you
ditto cilia lags
might win a trip to the moon with the hair of Nicolas Cage
nightwear oomph [omit tint]
the bunker is filled with graph paper and sweat. I cant see
buried fetish knell
them getting a whole movie out of what I cant see
heehaw getting molt!
Concrete and cinder blocks are made with open cells that can accept metal reinforcing or additional concrete for
greater strength. Concrete blocks are far stronger than cinder blocks. Some building codes expressly prohibit the use
of cinder blocks in construction projects. Nonetheless, many people do not distinguish and refer to what are usually
concrete blocks as cinder block, as above.
a j4 poem
2.!
I dont like the look of them house centipedes2

oohed oink kit, tell
[behind the eyes, behind the yes]
bed eye then his
but they eat other small insects. sternum and stained binding,
rubato teeth they
calliope with metal and wings, you whiteout your eyes
[await poem cell, hilt]
[without your eyes]
becomes permanent or tiling
soap it now. It is in the other room with nouns
anti-swoop
slick at the dad end.
[detach: add tinkles]
Life is distribution & death is receivership, or
cross-hatched3
[wobble and beave]
we qualify the unneeded clarified and compromise

qua wifely
the point
poet-thin
Scutigera coleoptrata.
Herringboned or houndstoothed.
a j4 poem
!
3.
shit-dog in the kitchen
things I do & a bottled message is a beacon sniffy in a wet shadow
databases dongle met
cross-witch a purloined mystery. Because I often forget
[scotch stirs4]
how to spell satellite & silhouette and gonorrhea,
tessellate hollow pit
sometimes asphault.5
plateaus moist hems
top fecal gym skit
and hoof it
A dose of how you really feel on the passage?
[ash wooed of]
A: over-favored by customs and under-articulated. Literally,
phoenixes moult soon
one smooth expulsion without a hitch
favor body veer
Snowden trophy coffee cups, a luxury
nth-spooned, wry
The distillation process is undertaken by a staff of 16, known as The Sixteen Men of Tain, who work year round,
with the exceptions of Christmas and periods of maintenance.
5
Might as well pick up and off of it.
!
!
a j4 poem
!
4.
if you can't draw a straight line, your nerves are chained together
cutaway rind of
post nails in a darkened hole. Pass

panel slit to
crate to the lurchmen if they got tome for dearth of alacrity
scream patsy
fractions opposing dopamine and golden ratios
innate kvetch in
feet to rest before the daisy screams we
flatteries tone set
jerk faster & we dont want to compete. The cataracts flourished,
refs wreak [jet]
finial tops were not the usual fruit
[tailspin of]
[dada.] is. no longer able to.
be googled,
nodalised organ
but tattooed to the anthology of this using audacity & corpus callosum sock
mutated bi-toot
hobbits to telegraph the flatwhite suck sound of a miniature kangaroo corpse
light poet bathrobes6
another penniless genius like ourself
irrigates ex-wince
men were working on that guy's [box of bad] tricks, the
[lets pretend our hands were made out of other
guy without the had.
hands, slightly wider than
hours but paper thin]
The gumball machine was on autohyopnosis in the Crimean sea. This
detaching
was Thursday. The slower
hayseed ruts,
they go the more they become objects
forested eyes7
!
!!
6
See me cry me a sea. Think it to yourself in three, two, one.
Lumpy standards.
a j4 poem
!
5.
Lamar would work to Braker, if north is your concrete block

if skirmish & jetsam an albatross or salad dressing, a haunted DVD
[if a vagina]
concession air
is it worth a spare tire with some try rot?

[tonal clinamen]
These seams like [control alt delete] times nuevo roman, flaneur po dongle
the motel lights were looks without a future
into the metronome of sick, slow, poky lil puppy:
[...]
Noch bewegte sich eine Zehe
[a toe kept on moving
Als ich das Kino fr immer
as I left the movies
verlie.
forever.
Das Gedchtnis is die eine Seite
Memory is the one side
8
die andere Seite efrahren wir nie.
the other side we never know.]
!
!
Rolf Dieter Brinkmann, Der nackte Fu von Ava Gardner, Standphotos (Rohwolt Verlag, 1980).
a j4 poem
!
6.
did you know the pope has a tattoo?

[inking Howdy]
Youre not going to leave a sexy corpse, one of them said to me.
[your egg notion]
I hadnt brought reuseable bags & the ordeal
bathing, turd ho
was special. one never knows that trunk of milk forever,
lace wasp is
just an old goldfish, #293 out the last bowl in the wild, wandering
nodal juts
the curves, hunting one last flake
[curve thinnest hug]
first-person singular with ketchup in Anne Franks pajamas

in a hammock gone bananas, like camp9 or
frailness or spurting
dog days of summer on Picasso seats to see Silence of the Lambs
[deaf smudgy rooms]
in 1992. Is the A/C on, or is this just spermy & oiled fresh as a personal
inchoate SOS
fart, like a mitochondrial foot fungus or
[omit focal door hint]
a facial hair trimmer for the summit meeting in Geneva
Why, hey, called me a weasel
rapid asphalt
in the middle
between two queens
[...]
[above the watermark]

around the relative curve, where
wiping down the surface with its insides
Everything is
potable!10
I never went to camp.
10
Todo es potable!
a j4 poem
!
7.
hey you! was splattered at the scene of the church boobs

pouter sashayed wetly
very nearly a teen carwash orgy with suspicious panties & hamburgers
eaten rarely envy
for all there was, it was in the end a sort of nuanced beginning, as
shower after all
they say in independent films
Im so bored, ill call a taxi a fag,
ambulance a nigger, kike or spic
whatever its skin a dick
joke. tell a chick with big tits, nice dicks. I dont really but
now I want to. I lack control of my impulses.
they perpetuate cereal boxes
for illustrated sports magazines.
they who?
we hide and lie. fucking raging because my player wont play movies
and theres nobody home anyways when I feel like this. we who?
me, you, clicks & impulses. [my] words.
[...]
!or subjugate, rationalize not being open to new ideas.
[the first person lies awake in the second persons pool]

I have a hard stop on Fuck-a-Dog
at 4 post meridian.
[Olive Garden]
used a tire like in Jaws last time & second helping hands are good people
[Soylent Green]
in spite of what the world and my own conditioned responses told
foreheads with twin plot
nobody saw my boner and i felt bad about it.
[torus]
Day11
!!
11
FADD was first observed on July 23, 2009. It has been subsequently celebrated in the United States and western
Canada on the fourth Friday of July.
a j4 poem
!
8.
everything is Guardians of the Galaxy & not 100% a dick

kismet syllabus of offal Korn members on Beaver Ruin Road,
they needed bullet proof vests. The

loose puffs in peninsular suits
receipts tell a story in the garbage biter of the obtuse, the
etched glass with icons
only bigger
& iodine stains like nicotine stains. No, like wine stains, &
cuted by false bottoms
coffee in the morning
[her softness] courses through my fingertips.

[the curtains get up my life]
I cut the rug. I used a plastic sneak knife, I put
my nose to the grindstone and made hamsters fight but
winter is an anaconda
only pretend-fight. Im more into wiener dog races
in pudding, [me,] but that little oasis didnt
whats coming out of that truck?
last long. shed get pissed if I wanted to get food
[inspired by a true story]
because
[food made entirely of pronouns]
I dont own her, which we didnt cover
but I was really hungry
were coming up on a commercial break of the soul
hang on to your interrobang
a j4 poem
!
9.
Harrison Ford's voice-over & its absence

no shady whim
it isnt quite Pleasant Hill and Steve Reynolds
Stein quit it
try to be a cubist painter and try to digest-agitate & consider locations
basic butter toy
and conditions. I dont make movies or recall where we come
motion to candied skin
from all the timethus it walked over to the Refrigerator of Contempt,
[...]
poking its head thru the second page of instructions & seemed
adapted hosing ink
to become a bad diagram or code breakable
cooties embed, meet
12
by that Red Baron strafing the pizza aisle. So now
lactose dun joy
for some antacid
racing felt became phat
like those rabies in house slippers
[speaking in 90s aphorisms]
at convenience stores
!
!
!
!
!
12
show the hand to the audience:
this might require some untitled instrumental track time

[.......]
[...]
[.....]
[.....................................]
[...]
Richthofen was shot down and killed near Amiens on 21 April 1918. There has been considerable discussion and
debate regarding aspects of his career, especially the circumstances of his death. He remains perhaps the most
widely known fighter pilot of all time, and has been the subject of many books, films and other media. He is also a
major brand of frozen pizza sold in the United States by Schwan Food Company.
Spring 2015
hiromi suzuki
Trolls
1.
the crown of frankenstein shining dully in the air
a chicory ship sets sail to a waterway under the ground
seeking a poached egg with just good degree
2.
see the sea floating in the sky
the rain clouds containing lemon jelly
melting and falling on the frozen troll
3.
the grass moist with morning dew
the glass window is clouded with stifling mist
spring draws the invisible man with a waterdrop
Spring 2015
Gregory Prendergast
Repeat.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Repetition makes things powerful,
Then numbs them away away away away away away away away away away away away away away
away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away
away away away away
Spring 2015
Daniel Y. Harris
Usher 1839
The failed lately of feeds and gluewares low mischief,
forfeit their tribune if rites failback under duress here
collapsing. Its the optic tract of a weak left eyes wide
slit of amblyopia. Hail the gripsack of ocular strength.
Is this like a satchel or a manbag? Declare the fundus
the audience, and hail the blur Eddy defocuses, a poke
of recall in the f/16 to f/32 range. Not these audiences,
those among the unconvinced performing in The Fall
of the House Usher who hear the thin crack. Eddys
hyperesthesia is out of control today. His rosy cheeks
could say inter and may cause the tarn to glow blue.
Then, the zombie-cringe of a killbots evil eye eyes
Eddy. Hes renamed Edderick. His brain splits in two.
The blue crack widens eye-like twice beyond repair.
Sequitur 2015
His subfield of colloids: foams, gels and the rarefied liquid
crystals of soft mattersuch a common and neglected trait
of heartless rapture among layered goo. If hes hypnotized,
so are we in gloop, gook, gunk and glops gummy muck
of sticky stuff. Eating gruel, burgoo and cawl with butter
and salt, connects bonds and polymer melts. Predictions
fail to motor the nerves of bubbles above his cartoon lips.
By contrast, rubber in tires, etc. He always overreaches
left in spite of enthalpic smilesright in spite of a lipids
found object. Eddys internal degrees will never placate
the not afraid heroic us drawn across these test surfaces.
His passion segues to derive from the passus of pillow.
Tilts to derive. Tilts to adagio with affix cum (= with),
by a string left standing to suffer ranked unholied non.
Fatale 69
Release starch to local mates whose 69 nanometres,
between the infrared, break middle clauses with red
kerosene lamps. Eddy lives in/on bioluminescence:
nobodys chemiluminescence reacts with his flasks
limited emission of heat. Confess, Eddys a vibronic,
excited state of reactants imitating being our human
man, our being a human woman: hominin clade erect
in posture to fuck australopithecine or related genera.
Occupy extinct Eurasia. No one lives there, mothers.
Did anyone really want a mother, lobe of first fatale,
last womb? Wfmann to wmmann to wumman feely.
Eddy was always Eddie. Tag the Norman Conquest
when the labial changed to a mans wambe conquer.
Eddys alchemy of copper bleeds menarches she.
Carthaginian 146
Eddy Barbarossa Daemon attempts to rule the sacrums red
beard, waxing Herzog von Schwabens first trip to the Eastern
region of Swabia: there, partnered with the multi-hyphenated
cisgendered, an old school Cisalpine Gaul, unmarks the norm.
When did he match their body/sex? In these seamless defenses,
in these dictatorships of likes, birthed accrued solely due to set
when born gifted. Other trans lump defeat more defeated sides,
sides subjugated simple and poised for a post-peace Eddy sex,
out-of-the-box and post-gendered genre. Carthage is conflict.
Carthage is finally heard, blinded by a cataracts of anecdotes.
Water starves motive. Eddy refuses to box glory. He humbles
bromide. He crazed with craquelure. He all but Punic risks.
He occupies the cupi of womyn-born womyn: bych of ytches.
Labels consider erasures, far, far ahead of the poultry small.
Chaetophobia 342
Hurlyburlys coiled s-curls balk a bobblehead spring
of jibber jabber. The magneto-follicle tilts back up
to goop, switched from papier-mch to hot ceramic.
No prospect of belief, none but the napes skin tone,
bored to death, neck wrung ezone slick with a glam
goldmine canned for greased up pomp. Unfix Eddys
mane for a beat boy hairclip of combed hoochie koo.
About his red flared fringe, his Madame Majordomo,
as Eddy calls his hair, blow dry it with a vent brush
to add feathering to his hipster cred, his curl-cream
boho as coiffed side pricks of spurred casting gloss.
Avenge Eddys pop pompadour in a redux of vellus
ughs, stroking neck-face lash back to the first bald
snchaux in training for the chaetophobia games.
Spring 2015
Daniel Morris
Please Stand By/Why Not Tammy 13 Ways
I.
Its often so hard to
Under[STAND BY
Youre another woman in jeopardy]
not just a plaid suit
Slapped on asleep in his cups repeatedly pushing
For a better quality d-i-v-o-r-c-e or at least
Punishing explanations for why our gift of honoring
Others choral jewels took us years off course among
Rainy lights of official fans one strumming
Your Wide Ass Tonky invites eyelash flutters
Direct from Ryman Auditorium
II.
Sure you can go and call me naive to my face
Cuz Inflamed Angel darkened up both eyes
Ninth hotel room this week mussed as
Mascara gone the way of bliss and botched
The god durned stomach surgery to boot
III.
Who wouldnt turn a slight fever
After 26 nodule operations
Downwardly mobile homecoming
Week for a little tender hideaway
Relapse apartment rollup perfect for storing
Dreams of release from gravel highways
Crystal chandeliers and trials with gravity
IV.
The problem so far as I can tell
Not enough words for HE
Not enough words for LOVE
Too many kinds for game
Too many kinds for stand
Too many kinds of lie of night of ball
Of hook of weak of line of sink of bed
V.
For Mr. Jones know only all too well my will
Better to bank on than flimsy willpower
Which frankly I cannot stand since
Age 8 pleading for release then
To the surprise of everyone near me
Claimed among Birmingham open
Fields Ive constantly craved
This charming escape to slam
My wantedness pin down
South but from where I
Sit Nashville is pronounced
UP NORTH
VI.
A fear of admirers previously showered in kindness
Percolates like a Ray Coniff choir not knowing
For sure how long the nod must wrestle the throat
Like a peach pit in silent submission beyond Doris Day
Had just about had it with pretty this exclusive
Jubilee snatch cant get much hotter which must
Now force myself to recall also as evening devotional
VII.
So many ways to hurt a man
Long distance
So many ways to hunt a man
Long distance
When attacked by the shutter tap of runaway trains
Long distance
And wounded words of confounded callers wanting more
Givens than masks and hints on the Opry stage
VIII.
O the many times Ive said dear pill box you sure are
the 3-minute shit to a tender man named Ace
I demand him to crawl my comfort bottle back with
Time that rip you naked like a drunk surgeon
Or more like Poor Little Joeys scraped knees
God how I miss those tricycle times
When bandages went just for sealing sores
IX.
The Law and the Lord urge us to mind each day to keep
Trying to catch the flying Easter dishes and iron skillets
As if life went by like an egg once thrown into a cracker cabaret
But nothing dont keep their appointment in the deal drawer
X.
My word dont I double up why
because this trash heap is damage
You only have to do is look the farewell glass
Bouquet of cotton balls rushed in yet so well made
Merely a remainder
Threatens to mortgage my threadbare
Vision or sever thy golden ring
To take us back to the abandoned cabin in Vidor
Remind me in no uncertain terms my given name
Shoots off Virginity
(as if life werent more than a muddy cup
of Maxwell instant coffee
aboard a fragile glass cruiser
we couldnt ever afford
even a copy of)
XI.
Big Blond binge of Tammys unspoiled B-52 turns
Behind to see her Benzedrine
Stare at Dade County strip malls
Of which
She should have refrained from investing
Broke once more but for another local genius kept
Updated Beauticians license for keepsake in her purse
XII.
Inside court 1.8 lb. preemie $ 2 drugstore teeth in tow
Guess Ill still forever be that barefoot teary-eyed blue
Survivor from Itawamba awaiting trials of indoor plumbing
Possum Jones must have had one hell of a forgiving ticker
I never could though Id pitch innocence for hits
Wed gladly render our most sincere amends
Foolish for our finale to seem to make-believe on stage
XIII.
My lonesome request to Jesus
Is even if He never knowed my Witness
Every paste board diamond baptism maybe
Just this once Lord could You find a way
In that enormous reservoir of a bleeding heart to turn
A Pretty Blind Eye towards every little iota
For I now do honestly hope you see it is the arc
Of a life of tears that matters not the Tabloid incidentals
Mr. Bennett and Mr. Duchamp: An Introduction

1.
Need I start? By saying?
OK.
Tonys monumental status is now sweltering.
All appropriate technologies and golden audiences set.
Let us desecrate the luminous Roman thrones spoken of by Dante.
As of course is Marcel.
Sorry, we are taking no questions please at the present time.
Immortal unknown depths of indoor plumbing pit spirits,
Stasis, and not metamorphics.
Our festive subjects gluey shape.
An Ell.
Shush, the both of you. Now sit tight.
And dont willfully misunderstand my reservations.
Im not carving totemic for Benedettos vocal stylings above
Duchampian painterly reserve.
Far from pasty magic.
Not a sniff. Id never put myself in mate so soon after the immediacy wars.
Immediacy is not an online platform.
Both left soiled hand rags behind springy reactors and suspended hearts like
chariots liberated for glad scales.
So much for bloodhounds. So far away from Homey Homey in my trailer. Invaded by speculators the likes of
elders such
as Bing and Mitch Miller.
In fact, Id go so far as to say if there existed a Hall of Fame of Great Men of 20th
C. American Art they would be inducted
in the original phalanx such as Ty Cobb and Honus Wagner.
Its a pile, not a wail.
Their scalar planes and homesick soup hit the wall. Accessed on demand like
native playgrounds.
This so even as Mr. Bennetts recent duel
With splices of Gaga and the late Amy Winehouse
Only suspend continuing willingness to project
The implanted bodies of major woman of our time in face-to-face lyric
Defense of other epistemes such
As when Tony said to Amy, slow down, Tyger.
Scratch.
IA.
Begin again. 2 soulful artists.
Dressage. A search for crowns on griffin turf.
That is our true subject. These introductory remarks shall now merely scout for
film.
The relationships. Center periphery margin border in and among bronze
distances.
Canonical figures loom like asterisks abound in still insufficiently aggrieved
unedited volumes.
Both shot and scored.
Unseen hybrid.
A symposium of unemployable beneficiaries yet knowing not (for what felt to them
like a long time)
Prolonged deserted boulevard of arcades ruled by mustachioed goons
who did their best
spelling in the 20th c. Other Anthology,
Requesting no rest from spiraling vice wars back taxes safe classroom frames
Donald Allen vs. Donald Hall and mean-spirited watercolors of Leroy Neimans
troubled mind. Either way. They served or
Blew. Then they crawled. They crawled the long way round for help. Towards
the safety of the
restless abstract imagination.
To reverberate. Our 21st ears clogged with buttermilk and throat filled with ironic
fluid.
As they taught us to look forward as guerrillas in the heat of logic, we honor them Like a waitress singing bel canto an
order of translucent eggs over easy by a short
blind cook.
Glaring backward. Mysterious smiles and mannish boobs of suffragettes.
On the mirror stage they answered.
Shakespeare implored us to glare at the eye browed dark lady. And yet do we not
notice Shakespeares furrowed brow in and as and of the dark lady in the sonnet Shakespeare by Milton?
Not for I but as. Of course I
Refer to that heroic bow legged duo.
Tony Bennett and Marcel Duchamp. Born withdrawn. Major clinical Depression Wolf Man panic denials and
Benzedrine habit when not so fresh and
with dependents and no titles.
Well hung out on the wind swept Hudson.

Penetrating the dark side of a swallows wing and meditating in part about our Corrupt monotone caucus and in part
about how there is no way to erase beauty
that does not also translate to coyote ugly shadow stare.
Spring 2015
Cynthia Ring
DYKE
mundane seaweed-colored sofa, black laptop case, loopy handwriting in a five star notebook come to mind,
she turns off her scarlet sports car headlights,
dads still up,
where were you? he asks, a football game? prom?
out. with one hand on the steering wheel, the
other on the inside of some chicks thigh,
babe, I dont have any lube, here, use
my vanilla lip gloss,
SMACK! dad hits her, the cops come, what can I do when he turns
around, sticks his bound hands
through the bars and *click* the cuffs unlock?
what do I say when gauze starts comin off her eye
and I dont have any tape?
SAMSARA
ITS BEEN NINE MONTHS

SINCE MY DAD DIED.
IM FINE.
RACHEL
Tortilla chips talk
about Rachel,
her navy blazer from the Gaps unbuttoned
She thinks nothings changed,
they say, and rightly so,
cause I still kiss my own fingertips,
Rachel turns, tilts,
offers her wine-wavy hair
for my sticky lipstick-smeared hand
to touch
ARE YOU GIVING UP
ON YOUR WRITING DEGREE?
RACHEL
Then Simon Peter, having a sword, drew it
and struck the high priests servant
and cut off his right ear
I wish
the slaves severed ear
crusted over scarlet,
sinews still crackle and send out static
at the slightest touch
was placed in the wall
behind the laptop where I click-tap
until my fingertips
chap red
IM GONNA PICK OUT
A SIMPLE HEADSTONE FOR MY DAD,
NOT THE SCARY JESUS ONE
RACHEL
I must draw a star below my left thumb in black Sharpie
to help me breathe thru the marble amid my shoulder,
but that doesnt dilute the double-take
when I see my prescription can be renewed
after 10/29,
the same date she sent a txt which read,
My dad passed away this morning
Please pray
MOKSHA
ITLL TAKE YEARS, HONEY

RACHEL
B4 90s party
I Coldplay cry,
tau text Taylor,
mascara muon,
comb my streaked hair
pin turn,
she doesnt knead my not-coffee breath,
so I gather all my forget-me-dos
and
shes in the Netherlands now
THE DOCTORS SAY MY DAD
HAS TEN YEARS,
SO IM OKAY
RACHEL
It was the end of the first semester,
so I forget what color the car
wasnt Rachel folding camis
while her dad, Mark,
balanced a cancer-crate stuffed with Jane Austen novels
on his head and said,
Susquehanna makes a god hamburger

The ketchups
like volunteer firefighters
rising to the occasion
EVERYBODY HAS A QUIET TIME
RACHEL
I huddle in the Ford Explorers backseat,
shiver,
blow on my cupped hands
She sits in the front,
box of Cheerios
in her lap,
her thin silver bangles clinking together
as she gathers
her scarlet hair
into a ponytail
I LIKE MY SEX, THANK YOU

RACHEL
As she twirls my car keys near her crotch
she can see her future ginger husband now,
right by Big Ben
Hes gonna be wearing a wool purple sweater,

she asserts,
her black ballet flats feather-touch
the concrete
SU Paranormal will think theyre ghosts
with cashew cock
and baby-back breasts,
shout Are you trying to say something
through the air vent?!
Bold text from Stories Are Made of Mistakes by James Galvin
LESPRIT DESCALIER
Im a None and ur so sugar-sure of your self:
I dont like some things the bible says, you explain, but I
have to believe them, then my shoelace almost catches in the bottom of the rosslyn escalatorIm a frayed
frase in your recent blog post about your mission to france, I donate 20 bucks to your fund despite
napping for three hours to cope with
your claim tht I dont understand prince caspians ending, pull my plaid blanket over my head cause that
pissed me off, prince caspians ending hits me too car crash close, this pome cant swerve roundIm
sorrystep over abstractions
adoro tu fe,
adoro tu fe, adoro tus creencias, adoro tus creencias
as sure as you dye your hair brown every six weeks and declare, I give good hugs, good
hugs
Lesprit descalierthe feeling you get after leaving a conversation, when you think of all the things you
should have said. Literally translated to the spirit of the staircase
FraseSpanish for sentence
Adoro tu feSpanish for I adore your faith
Adoro tus creenciasSpanish for I adore your beliefs
Spring 2015
from The Wittgenstein Variations

He who sees not things as they are
will never know Zen.
1.
Uttering a word is like striking a note
on the keyboard of the imagination.
2.
stone red
what do you have to know
write into a corner
disappear
later
familiar future
strange now
2.1
Consider what 'to point at something with one's attention' means.
3.
Why is watching the sea in the morning
like reading Wittgenstein in the late afternoon?
Comment with examples.
3.1
Should the philosopher treat a question as an illness?
No cure or curable?
3.2
Is everyone who speaks when no one is present
talking to himself or herself?
Conduct an oral examination.
3.3
word-full
point to a circle
to mean
to imagine
measure the distance
3.3.1
is
to sleep
active
or passive
3.3.1.1
utter the word
this
immersed in colour
3.3.1.2
unearthly connection
there is
a spirit
4.
What is the sound of one hand?
Depends on what you mean by one.
4.1
when the words are the meaning
no meaning
the red is vanishing
the broom is in the corner
I will never be silenced
until all is silence
4.2
Philosophy ought really to be written
as poetic composition.
4.2.1
a lamp gives light
doesn't exist
to fill an empty space
no boundary between
don't think
look
like a child
throwing a ball
repeatedly
against a coal-hole door
a game
no-one wins
done
in the doing
4.2.2
the height of mont blanc
the word - game
the sound of a clarinet
who is surprised
know something
but be mute
or say what you please
so long as it doesn't stop you
from seeing how things are
seeing that
there are things
you won't say
4.2.3
after all
nothing is hidden
5.
In what way is logic sublime?
Discuss and provide 10,000 examples.
5.1
What is the weight of time? Discern measurements
with reference to St Augustine.
5.1.1
Forever's look is in every shadow.
5.2
Think what is not the case.
5.2.1
humility
language
experience
world
humble
table
lamp
door
5.2.2
lock him in a room
leave a door open
5.2.2.1
He's imprisoned in a room with a door that's unlocked
and opens inwards, as long as it does not occur to him
to pull rather than to push.
5.2.2.2
Why are there tears in your eyes?
I don't know . . . I don't know, said Kafka.
6.
Who wrote the chemical history of a candle?
6.1
Who said that water is one individual thing - it never changes?
6.2
Repair a torn spider's web with your fingers.
Describe the process.
6.2.1
a word
like a chess piece
6.2.2
But this is how it is
I say to myself over and over again.
6.2.2.1
Philosophy is not a theory but an activity.
6.2.2.2
a problem
with form
lost
hidden
without interest
yet it may be hidden
in the simple
the familiar
it is there
never anywhere else
it is here
this is how things are
something true
something false
Spring 2015
Clare Holman-Hobbs
Leap Year
(after Ulysses)
We would be twentytwo in November,

so I planned for the summer jumble sales,
while we were eating parma violet roses, and I was waiting.
You didnt like the eating part, and so
just like that you left, when
snow covered the ground on the 29th
when I was waiting, waiting, waiting
to ask you, and it would be like heaven.
Instead it felt like
hell had frozen over, with all of my heart.
Spring 2015
Christopher Lyke
Disraeli Gears
There were signs of the British wars in that part of the country. Still signs, signs caught in amber, as
though the passage of time was different in Afghanistan. It was as if time hadnt passed at all, not in any real
way, for a hundred years. Maybe the ones on television had changed, the rich ones that schooled at Oxford and
Cambridge, but here, in the mountains, in the east, nothing had changed. There were the goats and the rocks and
the shit and the children and the painted boys and nothing had changed.
I have memories of a moment when I became separated from the main. It was only for a few minutes,
and there are memories of worse things, bloody things, that keep buried most of the time. But this one comes
whenever it wants. Just for a second, electric jolts while Im driving, or in a moment to myself, and then I shiver
and exhale and forget the feeling for a couple more days.
It was in the pitch hours between midnight and sun up. Wed walked for a few hours, through the Mayl
River, over the plateau, up and through the craggy foothills of the mountain. Wed started around midnight
when, a few hours later, we finally crested the last, and highest hill on our route. Once over it the valley opened
beneath us and we could see a light here or there, a twinkling hearth or pit, marking the villages dotting the
ridgeline. They were stepping stones that led to the Dowlat Shah and beyond, to the truly lawless place. We
werent going there yet though, that morning it was for the village of Bumby, the first village after the crest.
Wed split into two groups, looking for the passage down the mountain to reach positions over the town
by dawn. My group swung like a gate down and across a section of the hillside, through the sparse trees, over
the rocks that rolled with booted feet as they moved along. Trying to be quiet and then: separation. I turned back
and there wasnt anyone. It was too dark on this side of the mountain to catch enough moonlight for my night
vision to work that well. Every shadow was the enemy, and They knew I was there, smelled me, could see in
the dark like cats, padding from tree to tree waiting to grab me and drag me down to be lost forever, pin
cushioned like the British stragglers racing for Jalalabad more than a century before.
A few months before this, before the night patrol to Bumby, we heard a bad man named Fazil Rabi was
near our outpost in a place called Kanday. We surrounded the village while our comrades in arms, the Afghan
National Army, along with our lieutenants, searched the buildings. Wed missed Mr. Rabi -the Lion, the
people called him- hed slipped out as we got into position, but the search of the village paid off. There are
pictures of the smiling lieutenants with stacks of rocket launchers and light machine guns, hundreds of rounds in
boxes strewn about, a Russian automatic grenade launcher most of us had never seen before and there, in the
center of it all, a Martini-Henry rifle. The imperial rifle. The British pilum. Rusted and wood-scuffed, the
century-plus-old-action still working, ready to fire the ugly, blunt-nosed rifle rounds they were used to firing
back in the days of Victoria and Rule Britannica.
How is it possible, I thought later, that it had all led to me, alone on the way to Bumby, separated and in
the trees, trying not to breathe, and shrinking around my rifle? All of the time and calamity that traversed these
mountains: the Persians, the Macedonians, and the Sassonids; the Khwarazmians, the Mongols, the Mughals,
and the Brits and their damned Martini-Henrys. Then the Russians and the slaughter; there was a tiny graveyard
on our outpost, next to the LZ, the product of a Soviet purge. All of it, all of time in those mountains grinded
out, stopping and starting again throughout the ages had unraveled to me, and I was at its breakwater, I was the
prow, alone. Kneeling as all of this unconsciously ravaged me, I put my rifle to my cheek and began turning
from side to side, listening, scanning with the safety off, searching.
Its all time travel anyway, so it seemed like I was there, on the shale, leaning against that thin tree for
an hour, or a millennia, but it hadnt been. It was only after a few moments that I saw an Infra Red signal, two
flashes, I sent back three, and that was it. The other section had found the passage in the direction theyd been
sent. I walked back up the hill and linked up with the squad, the squad that I was then supposed to lead through
the night to the town of Bumby to surprise some man or another.
I know He was there though. Maybe He was scared of me as well. Maybe I was so close I could have
dashed His brains out with my rifle. As it was Im glad I didnt piss myself. We were all brave when next to one
another; even with only one other, we could be brave. As long as someone would be able to bolster you with
love, or shame, or brotherhood, or whatever, then you could be brave. But alone is a different story. There were
nights at the outpost that I could swear He was crawling up on us. I knew it, crawling up and cutting the wires
while we huddled, freezing in guard shacks, all together, periodically staring at the mountains. Crawling up the
stairs to the outpost while we dozed at the guns, fighting off sleep till morning. The tide would always come in.
Spring 2015
Christopher Brownsword
Selection from the novel Throw Away the Lights
SECOND CYCLE
1
The lips of the vagina are pushed open by the crown fontanelle. She feels the haemorrhoids around her anus
respond to the pressure. Released from the enclosed territory of the womb, the child shrieks against the
light, as moments before her mother shrieked to bring her into it. Now the mother takes the child in her
arms. For nine months shes felt the stirrings of life behind her abdomen, and for as many years as she can
remember prior to this, shed look at the flattened disc of her belly in the mirror and imagine it swollen,
imagine the small fingers that now wrap about her thumb; this life of which she herself is the vessel. Blood
of her blood: flesh of her flesh. This life that she begat, and on whose body she can smell faintly her own
vaginal secretions, her own shit. And she kisses the childs eyes.
She will love her.
She will love her, and she will protect her.
Blood of her blood: flesh of her flesh: life of her life.
Her belly once full with child: a solar disc.
Theres a cradle, and later theres a bed. There are nightmares which are soothed away, and a
pounding heart that is stilled by soft words. Theres a broken line of trees that ends at a pond, and wishes
made upon the green water. Theres a white pavilion where the adults sip tea and lemonade. There are long
avenues down which leaves blow in autumn. Theres an infant, and later theres a woman. Theres a woman,
and later theres an infant. The clouds assume the shape of whatever thought is fitted to them: this one is a
clown juggling three poodles and two cats with his feet, and that one is a pony. Theres an infant, and theres
a child, and the death and renewal of tissues and cells that must confirm the one to the next.
2
When the police showed up, Julie rushed over and asked them to do something to help the woman. Arent
the paramedics here? In that case, madam, one of them said, wait until they arrive. They didnt know. It
wouldnt be long. Yes, terrible weather. At least it hadnt turned to snow. Still time, sure. Ready for a holiday;
somewhere warm.
By now sunlight filled the room. The womans cries, commencing after Julie had begun to clean some
of the wounds to her face, had dissolved into a sequence of modulated whimpers and moans; the shadows
cast by the sun seemed almost to carry the pitch of them along the walls.
Where have you been? We called you thirty minutes ago! You need to do something to help her,
Julie was berating the two police officers again, having returned from washing the blood off her hands in the
kitchen. The officers - one male and one female, both about forty - barely acknowledged the body at the
corner of their field of vision. I think she may have hypothermia, Julie continued, because she was most
likely out there all night.
Wait until the paramedics arrive, madam.
What are they doing, stopping for ice cream?!
Theyll get here as soon as they can, madam.
Argh...stop calling me madam...fucks sake!
Ignoring the woman, they set about the task of taking our statements. After Julie and one of the other
workers, it was my turn.
What was my name? An unusual surname, how did I spell it? Where did I live? And how long had I
been staying there? Had I ever seen the woman before? Did I see anyone other than my co-workers near the
premises when I arrived? A bus driver...no, they didnt think so either. Would I be willing to give further
information if required?
As a final question, the female asked where the toilets were. I pointed them out.
You might want to hold it in, if you can, I said; I havent got around to cleaning them yet.
Even though my contact with the woman amounted to no more than my having helped her out of the
rain, an offence, if such it was, that Julie and Saul were complicit in, I now felt a sensation of guilt or unease.
Absurd though it seemed, had the policeman asked whether I myself assaulted her, I might have said yes.
Perhaps like the police officers, I wanted only to get through the ordeal as easily and hastily as possible, and
move on.
The policeman smiled, looked up and down to see if anyone had brought him a cup of tea, put his
notebook away, and moved on to Saul, who was already starting to arrange the tables and chairs, and
distribute the set-menus, made of glossy card that was always smeared with who knows what by the end of
the night.
Bring me the condiments, Saul shouted to someone in the kitchen.
Bring you the what?
The condiments...CON-DI-MENTS...the ketchup and mustard and all that shit, you dumb bastard!
Hey, it says here on the ketchup: Store in a cool, dry place. We should try Louises cunt!
It says cool, not frozen!
Through the window looking down on the street I saw pigeons jabbing between the cracks of the
pavement, hoping to dredge up a bread crumb or piece of greasy chicken skin that hadnt yet been lost in the
deluge. There was a loud crash from the construction site opposite. Startled into retreat, the pigeons shot
upwards, a vortex of grey feathers making ashes of the sky.
I walked behind the bar, through the kitchen, and on to the storage cupboard where the cleaning
equipment was kept, picked out a mop and bucket and disinfectant and paper towels. If the police officers
were right, the paramedics would be here soon. After they took the woman away, as Saul had earlier
reminded me, Id have work to do.
THIRD CYCLE
By the time my shift ended, the rain was still coming down. I walked back to the Briar Lane Hotel with Saul.
When we were a few streets away, he motioned for me to join him under the awning of a twenty-four hour
convenience store while he lit a cigarette. A continuous flow of water gushed from the eaves. The drains had
backed up, and parts of the road were nigh on impassable. I stood and shivered as Saul blew smoke into the
dark.
What are you doing?
Im cold...I mean, its cold...arent you cold?
Sure, but Im not a pussy like you.
I cupped my hands to my mouth and breathed into them, as if this might somehow keep me warm.
The sound of the rain was augmented by the tin roof of a bus stop a few feet away. Inside the shelter, racist
graffiti adorned the time table. Fastened to the glass with tape, a photocopied poster requested information
about a man from the district whod gone missing a year ago. There was a picture of the man and below it a
brief description, as well as a number to call. As was often the case, his body would presumably turn up in
scrubland one of these days.
Next to it, the window panel had been smashed-in and covered with a plywood board. Using a black
marker, someone had drawn a picture of an erect cock, with a large vein running down its centre and five
drops of semen squirting from the shaft in a parabola. At a lateral angle to the stiffened phallus was a
hypodermic syringe, the tip of which connected with the vein.
Someone has done a picture of your cock, I said to Saul.
Its too big to be yours, he shot back.
Well, youve measured it in your mouth often enough.
This was how we spoke to one another. It was tedious at times. But we had little else to say...little we
wanted to say.
Saul began to talk about work related matters. I switched off.
Impressions from the past ten hours or so came back to me in random sequence; the grime on the
toilet, the bandage around Julies wrist, the angle of the womans arms as she tried to cover herself in the
chair, though she was already fully clothed. I was unable to make these images adhere. At one juncture it
seemed they might form a conversion line, along which some hidden meaning or distinct trajectory from
point to point might be conferred. However, they remained unrelated, fragmentary, merely bits and pieces
going nowhere, minus purpose...torn by flux.
War-without-end!
The phrase entered my head at exactly the same moment as the images. I vaguely remembered it
being there as part of something else, as I lay in bed that morning, listening to the argument in the room
above mine. Had it returned to me just then, or had it been there the whole while, an echo that resided in my
unconscious, and which events had amplified, so that I could only now heed it clearly for the first time?
This interlude of reflection was quickly truncated. My thoughts raced in all directions at once, as if,
like the rivers and streams that networked the municipality I was in, theyd broken faith with the channels
that ordinarily guided them.
Blood of my blood: flesh of my flesh: life of my life.
These words superimposed themselves over the others, before just as quickly sinking back into the
depths of my mind. I saw a woman in labour...the childs head emerging from between her thighs...a
cradle...a bed...a line of sycamores...the green water of a pond...the ides of summer, when heat grinds the
nerves...clouds...her eyes like two beaten eggs running out of her skull.
...and every time I touch it, I get a shock...Ive fucking told them!
Not having been paying attention, I only caught the last segment of what Saul said.
Send it back to the manufacturers, I told them; its fucking useless, but do they listen, do they fuck! I
wont use it again, not for what they pay me. All those volts running through it! Shit!
What the fuck are you talking about?
You wouldnt understand!
Testing the weather, Saul took a step forwards into the rain then resumed his position under the
awning. Saul: was that his Christian name or surname...or perhaps a nickname acquired in adolescence and
which for whatever reason hed kept?
Ten hours a day, six days a week, I was never more than sixty feet from Saul. Even in the Briar Lane
Hotel, which hed moved into a week ago on my recommendation, our rooms were on the same floor; and
yet his presence before me was that of a stranger.
Prior to his taking a room in the hotel, Saul had lived not far away in a hostel of whatever type. Before
that, hed shared a house with three men his own age, all of whom worked as waiters at a bistro outside
town, until he came home to find the area cordoned off by police. One of the men had decapitated another
with a hacksaw. His motive was unclear, and the case was currently pending trial. All this Id been notified of
by Saul. As for the accuracy of any of it...I couldnt say.
Aside from these few scraps of information, I knew almost nothing about Saul, except his mother was
in a care home nearby because she suffered from a form of dementia that induced in her moments of
unpredictable rage; Saul told me shed once attacked him with a kitchen knife. There was also a sister,
apparently, and she too was sick. Around the time I started my job, within the first couple of days, Id
overheard Julie telling Kathy that some years earlier Sauls father had been found asphyxiated with a plastic
bag tied over his head. From what I could gather, she was speculating whether it might have been suicide, or
a sex act which had gotten out of hand.
In a hotel across the street, the window to one of the rooms on the top floor opened and a teenage girl
stuck her head out, shouting to us over the rain and the gales of wind whose rampage had broken a street
light in two a few days before. It was too dark to identify her features, but I thought I could see she had long,
frizzy hair...chestnut or red or maybe black.
Do either of you want to come up, and Ill sit on your face?
Put some knickers on, Saul shouted, without a moments hesitation. I can smell your cunt from
down here, dirty bitch!
At once the girl was yanked away from the window by an unseen force, and a second later a mans
head appeared in her place. He, too, had frizzy hair, but shorter, and unmistakably red.
You whore-bastard...there...and...talk to my daughter like that!
His words came to us mangled by the wind and a passing bus whose wheels were submerged under
sewage. The pavements and roads had filled with commuters, in cars, on foot, riding bikes, all dashing this
way and that to escape the rain.
Saul smiled: He called me a whore-bastard! Did you hear him?

Well, if thats the worst youve ever been called...
I ought to get the pigs, Saul shouted to the man. What the fuck are you running up there, a brothel?
No, you suck my dick!
Stay right there...Im coming down! Ill beat the shit out of you!
Youd better take your fist out of your daughters arse first!
Lets go, I said.
What are you afraid of? Its not our fault if...
Ive seen enough blood for today.
There was a lot for you to mop up, Saul conceded. I hope you didnt get any of it on your skin. That
bitch probably had AIDS! I would have offered to help, but, you know...I had other things to attend to in the
kitchen, like the electrics...fucking rain gets everywhere, not even my place to sort it out...besides, I nearly got
shit all over my hands when we carried her in.
Okay, youre right, pal, lets go. Anyway, speaking of shit, I need to squeeze one out, and I dont
think...
I bent to the ground and picked up a coin someone had dropped, and which lay flat at the bottom of a
puddle. Speaking of shit, Saul was saying, I need to squeeze one out, and I dont think that guy is coming
down.
Here, treat yourself!
Saul took the coin from my hand, then, in an exaggerated display of showmanship, he aimed for the
window of the hotel across the street. The wind spun it off course. There was too little light and too much
noise to see or hear where it landed. I laughed, trying to dispel the feeling of alarm which had descended
upon me.
Have you eaten today? I said, deciding this feeling was most likely nothing more serious than
hunger pangs, since Id had only a slice of bread and butter all day, due to an upset stomach, no doubt
brought on by something Id sampled in the kitchen the day before...out-of-date ham...rotten lettuce. On the
other hand, I realised, it could be apprehension in wondering if the man from the hotel might come down
and start trouble for us.
Done it already, pal...breakfast at Kathys, and then lunch at that place around the corner; thats what
I need to shit out now.
What place around the corner?
You know the one I mean.
If I knew, I wouldnt be asking.
The new place...newish...you do know it. Great food, and cheap, but it smells better going in than it
does coming out.
I dont know which place youre talking about.
Piss off...youre just being awkward.
Why would I want to be awkward over something like this?
Never mind...Im about to shit myself! I think the hatchling has broken its shell!
Come on, then, I said. If we wait for the rain to ease off, well still be here next month...unless the
floods get us first!
Spring 2015
Charles Borkhuis
TRAINING WHEELS
when is a photograph
like a tombstone
and why is happiness wrapped
in a riddle of inverse proportions
we all looked so cheerful in the photo
with our party hats and noise makers
perfectly balanced on the frozen rope
of a smile extended into a future
that never quite arrives
while the living stumble past
on shaky stilts
no doubt its necessary to compartmentalize
so we can saw through the thighbone
without having a nervous breakdown
or fly the plane safely through the storm
to the child awake in bed
waiting for her story
ETERNAL RETURN VOUCHERS
that tiny voice again warbling

help me . . . help me
if only I knew who was speaking
behind this choking sensation
sometimes I get my heads mixed up
down on your knees in the mud
open your eyes and it all starts again
the many hiding inside the few
identity as the creation of others
why is that fly wearing my face
the missing connection lies
just out of reach or buried within
children in the trees are waving
everything is waiting for us to begin
POWDER BURNS
no one was there

when I arrived
blindfolded and stumbling
into the furniture
wheres the party
wheres the tail wheres the donkey
teeth marks dont necessarily mean
she still loves you
Im turning my insides out
over the same old tune
unable to keep within the frame
my shutter-speed slips the knot
masked creatures enter
and exit as death-in-life
illuminates
while drawing us closer
to the crack in the chinese vase
where the desultory self leaks out
PARTY FAVORS ANYONE
bring on the cake with its sparkling candles

and the fire trucks with their intrepid
intestinal hoses
sit yourself down upon this shaky throne
and let the games begin
you make a sweeping gesture
with your sword and decapitate
the smiling head of childhood
at times you dress like a bat
and are bent upon exposing the decomposing
half-truths that draw flies
the lies that conceal under a cardboard crown
the real nature of desire
which no one knows
which no one knows . . .
but you
in your poets cape and mask
peering down from the roofs of tall buildings
you have been seen
nosing an egg across a ballroom
of dancing bears
you have been seen
entering the narrows where words cant follow
blow the party horns deep rasp
let the games begin
DRAWING FLIES
how many vacant rooms

in the eye of a fly
or is it a full house tonight
it was code for something in a dream
which was code for something else
in a movie maybe isnt that
a blinking motel sign up ahead
no need to register whats in a name
the wings of a bed spread
theres something of a stuffed bird
in all of us dont you think
shes in the shower reading your thoughts
the thoughts of a fly on the wall
the thoughts of the one upstairs in bed
and the other one buried in the cemetery
the car is in the swamp
what more does she want
here comes the detectives spiky shoes
his hooks and clamps
climbing the silent rock face
up a staircase or naked breast
following the splitting hairs of a clue
that lead inevitably to you
and the rather large insect in the fruit cellar
they say a boys best friend is his dead mother
but youre not so sure anymore
out on a shaky limb the mind may stumble
upon the thorny precipice of a word
and lose its balance to the dizzying buzz
of a harmless housefly
Spring 2015
bruno neiva
three-piece text art series entitled 'un-brushed'
un
br
sh
Spring 2015
Billy Cancel
went marginalia shroving far from passionless

thugdom shadow on my neighbors lawn meant
unimaginable bug out was set upon a detour took wrong turn got
told rope cut from coil wouldnt get 2nd chance good knew there werent
a sweet tooth amongst those grinders anyhow positive stuff i went with it
police
have released further details relating to the identity of a decomposed body found
on common land upon the edge of a milton keynes trading estate 2 months ago
however detectives have yet to establish the cause of death
bran n mash
no cause for complaint preserves my temper lush datafication
neither been requested nor will be well
received years have i lent against sat
upon hung from this wonderful clearing blooming plants flowering
stalks low key high energy jolt sometimes cheeks overlap
cant smile wider
etching 24 HUNTERS
GREY horsemen-WHITE pathBLACK thicket-WHITE
sky-GREY trees
no rites of passage catapult

though scattershot prolific meant occasional cosmic cut however ambitions were dashed lost
upon pillows edge couldnt find work wandered into the forest where i ride
a cockerel play synthesizers & more often than not raise pigs
brine zone imperial drag a slither from plate

of fists means crumb lunch in scented headlights looped
host echo triple asking asking as king watchmen
prepare to unload their hours with listless countenance
light hearted verse dont fog this mope yield
when
they deft sift my nest for limbo well ride nuclear horse its mouth aglow
to laminated sea board formerly bleak unfrequented
shore many strange guesses will be made as to our business as we ride & i
gloom out at my pale
thin best
etching 21 DISTURBANCE AT MARKET
GREY walled square-GREY
crowd writhing-WHITE
figure-BLACK hair torn
against a capital
breeze getting dragged by incorrect paddling mites through
slurry cascade dried things because root eating bugs their
zero day exploits i dabble in shards from busted
valve due to entangled fools lords mend chop
one
day shall cast a net across White Star Mat to clear it of all manner of
weeds & stones why cant we all just have a morning bracer some kidney
wax & insert a back door?
in the event of fire we will hang out same way we tolerate

shade better than most grasses repeat pink pills for pink people
no man has ever become suddenly though very green
studded with wildflowers this venue is a total receptacle for shitty kids menace to
navigation race to the bottom mistaken for lunging central
my brine tub report well
its been another day of boyish work at the quarantine center behind psychedelic
sweetness mind numbing complexity worse machine has been going shudder bang
thud hiss spewing bolts for days since i put a steam hammer to some
potato bugs & suffered from convulsions no affair of starched white excited
squeals this
etching 12 TAKING SHELTER ON A COUNTRY WALK
through BLACK thorns-GREY
clouds twist-BLACK flocktown tiny WHITE
for sleek in-credit

brutals accessories on the rampage as promised follow full
blast sun cult myself am bawling profane
vulgar sermons to some jeering crowd
would love nothing more
than trance cramp trance cramp trance at the center of some
weed choked season but through a gash
in the cargo wall i see clover leaf intersections
overpass tunnels elevated highways all flashing by
psychoclock broiled becalmed night losing steam cant

be saved by variations of the serve n paddle
genre or citys swift trade in little
giants whiskey n cupcakes its been waiting for the lord
of the hunt to come deliver the death blow but aint ready
to limp home for repairs so must shelter in a desolate barn
overnight angel engine showers unfiltered bits of joy onto
a wide area of dirt white parkland turquoise lake police later
confirm mosquito nest is a garden of delight
phew
no straggler loss awake with a hook in my mouth split
lip red eye stitched nose vinegar means good reputation grog
bad tremors quarrelling workhouse
next time ill lean
from my bunk with a biscuit in one
hand unwilling to be prevailed to leave
such a wreck
we proceeded to the end of the stream amongst tall ferns
banks covered with rhododendrons azaleas white pink yellow
scarlet
BLACK cracks-jagdown-WHITE sky-intoGREY hill
etching 34 A DREADFUL STORM
Spring 2015
Barbara Henning
from A DAY LIKE TODAY
RAINING ALL DAY
Coughing on the street
after teaching coughing again.
Lost another four pounds.
Must write a book some day,
called Cough. Clear and quiet
on the subway, then the climb up
to the street and two blocks
of coughing. Almost always
coughing in the rain. At St Marks
John Godfrey holds out his hands,
now arthritic. We older poets
hold each other in our words.
When I climb into bed, the guys
above us pull out their bed
and it rolls noisily across the floor.
I want to remember my dreams,
but this anti-coughing drug
makes me sleep so deeply
that when I stand up, I'm sleep
walking. In the morning, like
Mark Teixeira, I must admit
that this noisy cough has not
improved. John Cage says about
noise that it does not have to
disturb. When we really listen,
we will find it fascinating.
TWICE IN ONE LIFETIME

After copulating, the male's
pedipalp breaks off in the female
spider and forms a plug,
preventing other orb spiders
from fertilizing her. Then
she eats her mate. In the 90's,
there was the tech bubble
and after that the housing bubble.
What looks in a still photo
like a very delicate glass
bulb is in fact a bubble.
A big bubble is suspended
above me in the middle
of the room. I watch it drift
over the bed. Then I stand up
and reach out. There's a spider
inside the bubble. When it pops,
I wake up. My love says,
It's Anancy the trickster. Shortly
thereafter, an elderly man drifts
toward Central Park where
a few hours later he's found
sleeping on a bench near the zoo.
WHEN I ARRIVE
Boulder is sizzling, 100 plus
degrees and so dry I can smell
the wildflowers, I mean wildfires,
outside the city. Dry conditions
over much of the nation's bread
basket will lead to higher food
prices. Hot dry weather is making
massive dust storms in Arizona.
Scarcity of water also threatens
power plants and gas and oil
production. Food supplies are
at risk. Bernanke says the economy
is stuck in the mud. Then it starts
raining and the drought is over.
Monsoon and each day there is
more and more water and mud
slides develop in areas where
the fires have burnt out the ground
cover. Biking is a challenge.
When damp, my seat slides down
and when I stop to adjust,
zap down again. When unable
to extend, my long legs can't
engage the necessary muscles.
On Sunday, the rain stops
and the sun is blazing again.
I hang my bedding on a line.
As we drive away, the sheets
are flapping in the breeze.
THE SPEED OF LIGHT

A magnificent frigate sea bird
lives in the Galapagos,
the blue-footed booby.
In Untemyer Gardens a lion's
magnificent calm stone face
is smeared with graffiti.
In Mountain Lion OS you can
now zoom in or out of your
document just by pinching
or spreading two fingers.
An invisible energy field slows
the particles down. Without it
all elementary forms of matter
would zoom around at the speed
of light. Quick zooms, abrupt
edits and a restless camera
accelerate the momentum.
Were sauntering along Avenue A
while our boy zooms ahead
on his scooter, so fast and
graceful, slipping his right
foot behind his left and then
leaning toward the left to go
around the corner. Pennsylvania
is now leaning democratic,
and with the recession, more
than a few young adults are
leaning on their elderly parents.
ACROSS MY EYES
Strip mined or boiled loose
underground. Pipe it. Burst it.
One million gallons of crude
bitumen into the Kalamazoo
River. In the house with my
muscles pumped up, I turn off
the news and then my love's
guitar sends a chord across
my eyes and I drift into
let's go to bed. I hear him
showering. Then he's doing
qi gong by candlelight.
He climbs into our bed,
saying hes sending me qi.
His hands are burning hot.
Overhead, smog-forming
nitrogen oxide and sulfur
dioxide drifting eastward from
mid-western power plants.
ON ANY GIVEN DAY

There are 650,000 people
in the US without a place
to sleep. When we wake up
sparrows are busy pecking
around the base of the locust
tree. Kayin comes to yoga
with me and draws pictures
of hummingbirds. When
hummingbirds fly backwards,
they still have a very upright
body posture. Animals frequently
tangle horns with each other.
The boy is wearing a hat
with big horns and rattling eyes.
Everybody knows the animal
is telling outright lies, still
he gets 51% of the poll. Why
don't their brains turn to pudding?
At night, Kayin asks,
Does your body keep working,
Barbara, when you go to sleep?
NEW YEARS EVE

Mr. Zlobin writes a book
about Americans and how we
interrogate complete strangers.
Two men interrogate a woman,
one in gentle, soothing tones,
while the other fires staccato
bursts of accusatory questions.
Her husband is reading a magazine
called Wired when she repeats
her question. He snarls and
commands that she be still.
To issue spoken commands
on most Androids, you must
tap the microphone gently.
In Russia, children are raised
by their grandmothers.
An average mother would never
dream of leaving her child
with a teenager. She says
it seems as if he doesn't care
about her. He stands up
in a wild sea storm in the Gulf
of Alaska, where a Shell Oil
drilling rig runs aground
with 139,000 gallons
of diesel fuel. The unified
command will be monitoring
the situation. It's midnight
with fireworks when he walks
out while his wife is pleading
with him to stay. Frankenstein's
monster on occasion turns
out to be rather sweet.
Spring 2015
Aryan Kaganof
Cento for David wa Maahlamela
Dear David,
perhaps you were not yet born
when poetry ambushed you
and fed you poison only
to find cement
pavements
have no
lips
to carry
her pots of
crucified tears
cracked, and leave
them broken like omens
that speak without voices
of the only viscous
earthly love you
ever tasted
If only
you
had a
pair of
scissors to
be sprinkled
with holy water
undressing withered
leaves the hot-headed
word empress and no one
understands
there is nothing to negotiate
Dear David,
Im here in your country
for only a week hoping
the sky will weep
for me and I
hate it
when
you
tell me
such truth
I dislike to hear,
truth warmer, I should
say, than death because you
never allowed it to happen again
the entire truth is eaten without porridge
or rice and no piano shall speak again nothing
is sweet about this sea
Dear David,
Like a Bible about to be read
with all big books it read
one cold afternoon you
said love is a step
mother, they say
sculpt me a
new heart
make use
of the
things
around you
and yes, the
garbage truck
as if to say: people
are clothes, your clothes
Youve worn many people in the

past, you say I had hoped that this
common thing would collect us perhaps
youll then admit you said nothing about
yourself or your
sins.
Dear David,
It is not yet my turn,
I will die another day
the impossible day.
No need for ambi
valent thoughts
I do it on a
piece of
paper
with
nobody
and nothing
in my head so
i can speak
melodies
of
repentance
You
told me
its too early.
I see your mole
fingers digging me
out of the grave. to you
i return in needles of winter
raindrops because i will take no
pen nor paper
when I go
Dear David,
You know the essence of wounds
My God is a tongue that speaks
with lips sealed and stitched.
(S)He knows (s)he will soon
be bread
to worms
those without
shadows are here
again. their words are
always dressed to kill in echoes.
People have ice memories in this world
of machines double pay double
pay
Dear David,
I remain
an ordinary
poet and when
the night shadows
fall I return to my
makeshift poems I call
home. I took it to the street
I became against war and we bleed
each time
we smile
In this country,
it is not the smile
that matters, released
behind closed doors does
it even have a name? Is that
even important? You are a literate
someone. You live here You live here
Dear David,
Lucifer used to envy you, I heard
maybe, just maybe From ashes to ashes
A diamond is forever
they were told especially when they return from their
armpit lovers now that his pockets are suffocated by silver
and gold, how skeletal is the line between patriotism and arrogance
and I walked Dear David, its a matter of life and debt, we
collided with the midnight and we were satisfied to
stomp the soil and clothe us with the red
blanket. I could count bones of what
used to be poetry. Dear David,
I want to come to you to
meet the tree that
fruited you with
dirges
perhaps
this is what
the poem means
perhaps there are
no rules and if you
were to be amputated
with heavy nonsense
even if you were
stillborn again
poetry, real
poetry,
will
still
walk barefoot
on ghetto paper,
content, have you
discovered your
uncommon
gift
yet?
Dear David,
How can death
intimidate you?
Everything is dressed
with dust even the white
linen poems you washed not
so long ago though your heart
was full of worms. do the dead know any distance?
Dear David,
Your breath is a verse
Theres a poem in your
skull Where the sun
cannot steal
the marrow
of your
bones
anymore.
Sincerely,
AK
Spring 2015
Anne Gorrick
Antic Mirror, a Swarm, a Darkness
after Black Afgano
(a perfume from Nasomatto by Alessandro Gualtieri)
The voyage drops you in black ink: a scented audacity

Maybe you should stop reading right aboutnow
Luminous, you like to be well-informed
Rumors whirled like beginnings
Smuggling covers your eyes
Bleached grass like a provisional happiness
with all the side effects of a rich person
Dangerous notes like coffee, oudh, tobacco, wastefulness
She is admirably relentless, a complete envelopment
You are not in control of this incense
You are not in control of astonishing
Do you believe in sheet music?
Earth syndrome comforters
The river to pray
Bones, virgins clouds
Their last yachts, their last socks
An infinity of fear, inklings, thistles
In a word
the answer is a resounding "NO"
Black Afgano is potent, dark
featuring a bizzare combination of
wet tobacco leaf, faux cedar and a bad burnt incense accord
Sillage and longevity of this dog
are both regrettably exceptional
I recommend avoiding it
like the plague
Antic mirror, a swarm, a darkness

Black sciences, gold and dust
A star fell in the lake
An incense invasion
Is ascension real?
On the drier side
there is sweetness
but it's of a noncloying balsamic type
Mildly spicy. A little tar. Vetiver smoke
Something musky like ambrox underneath
An invigorating inviting compilation
everything in perfect proportion
Not terribly transgressive
It's a non-special incensey-patchouli thing
A scented lozenge to sweeten the breath
Wolves or flowers
What is a scent thats calming
that cats dislike?
Blisterbeetles, whitetail hunting
A tankful of Florida, a tankful of acid
Loveweed, rhinoplasty for couples
Prettier typing
[This dog is rich and hypnotic / with dark and dangerous notes like coffee, oud, tobacco and hash / This is beautifully relentless and
utterly]
Aware
of
our
dying
Travel like black ink into Afghanistan

where love is well dried
Rumor revolved like late months
in its necessary brutality
Its clear that you do not feel this way
When things are so dark they look like bleached grass
Clarity is a side-effect of this investigation
We becomes aware of our dying temporary happiness
Houses contain dark hypnotic notes
like coffee, like oudh, like nicotine, like wastefulness
A beautiful cruelty encircles this perfume
Afghanistan does not control the fact that you are never surprised
A perfume sucking/absorbing at our honesty
The weak, the headstong,the initiated, the travel agents

Fallen dreams tell me of their love of cooking
Days that have been damaged by lyrics
Fireball jumping spiders
At these nosebleed price-points
for me it's all about being different in compelling ways
YNMV (Your Nose May Vary)
Not as dark as I had hoped
Deception daylilies
If youre a bird Im a bird
If youre a bird, Im a bird tattoo
Ill be your shadow
Ill be your t-shirt
Ill be your allergy
Here's what you're getting:
white ground pepper
cloves
cinnamon
tobacco/smoke
tar
musk
vetiver
patchouli
leather
cedar/sandalwood
and a lot of hype
Zeus had no mild behaviors
Narcissus has eaten my soul like it was a word
Darkness, shadows, movies, prophecies
Light brown with blonde highlights
Almost white and dim
Angels camp along the Grand Canyon
with their beautiful therapy dogs
What fragrances are used in casinos?
[Black Afgano is an animal + 2 young girls / I got so many compliments with this dark but joyful scent / its smoky, dry, slightly
woodsy fade / Is this worth $150? / When word of a new release by Nasomatto began surfacing back in April, I took some interest,
but not a lot / I found the descriptions overly coy]
Journeys like black ink drop into of our hearts
A bright line that looks like love
Imprisonment, secret conspiracies aim at this fragrant substance
Rumors rotate late, between months
in bright, bright connection
We are part perfume and part prisoner
All the effects of chloride on grass
A side effect of conscious investigation
A side effect of dying and temporary luck
Property hypnotized by coffee, oudh, tobacco
wasting in their beautiful cruelties
their characteristic encirclement
Facts steered toward your surprise, add to your honesty
Tell me goodbye in a casino
Do you wonder where the yellow went?
Lets sleep in sugarland all the time
Sometimes well ask you to stop snorkeling
Do you receive unwanted phonecalls?
The woods on a snowy evening
Claustrophobia in a bottle"
It's the olfactory equivalent of the London Dungeon
This is simply a weird scent
made to provoke (really???)
Note: I usually like weird scents
but they're so hard to find, and much harder to create
Stop running this script
Stop the ringing in your ears
Stop rust
Stop your runny nose
Stop reading my shirt
Stop reading my mind
While pleasant in the first moment

the further development
better to say
the missing development
became boring. Nothing for the nose to discover
Even the rainbows are in recovery
and read from right to left
This disorder
This funk is so rubber
Smell this sapphire Lebanon
A daisy isnt exactly a love poem
[Highly concentrated oil-based extrait de parfum in miniature roller bottle / Produced by hand in small batches / It is the result of a
quest to arouse the effects of temporary bliss / NasomattoNasomatto / Nasomatto Pardon, Nasomatto Absinth, Nasomatto Black
Afgano, Nasomatto China White, Nasomatto Duro, Nasomatto Hindu]
has
temporary
luck
function
A journey like ink

into fragrant Afghan materials
Their middle blacks, their whereabouts
bright in love, well dried
If we end this now, good will inform us
Your secrets, your plots, your gates
These fragrant materials begin and smuggle
washed in rumors
Print a version of your eye and cover it
with a completely violet clear
You dont believe in this type of request
or any, if we cared
Chloride functions like a prisoner
This black fragrant material has a temporary luck function
The mind clear of investigation dies
The product house: sleeping pills, this darkness
The dangerous notes of coffee, oudh, tobacco, waste
How cruelty circles
the fact that you may never be surprised again
This fragrant material might increase our honesty
Aim a handgun for a cure

Please god, use black ops techniques in pools
Avalon headlights
capture the suns music internally
capture the subject of the Green River killer
Magic theory caught in photographic moments
Capture the queen in chess
Any potential complication - that would
for sure have been appreciated - was sucked
down by that aforementioned velvet
Imagine wearing velvet trousers
but with the soft side inward
Quadratic formula, quartering act
Hades
Hardwoods
Historical fiction
Hyssop
The opium in Baudelaires washing machine
First the feel is soft and luxurious
But after a very short while
it smothers, irritating the feel of ones skin
It will either make the wearer rebellious or apathetic
Carrots would not be orange
Your doodles are bugged
Door mystery
There is a mysterious object over Denver
Dead birds are solved
[At the time of writing this post / Black Afgano from Nasomatto is sold out practically everywhere and has been since 2010 /
Remember, Santa has two lists, one for naughty and one for nice / This is the gift for that special someone that sits squarely on the first
list / The intensely erotic / No loves / Buy / Love / Share]
Ink travels along these blacks

The fragrant materials in Afghanistan, its whereabouts
How bright is love, how well it dries
Police conspire and slide their secrets under your gate
Strike to start it
Rumors begin and are smuggled out like Afghan months
The summary of these raw materials begins in your eye
You did not believe in this type of request
As a side effect, your temporary luck function dies
Dark houses and their sleeping pills, their dangerous notes
The wonderful waste of cruelty and how it circles
us in coffee, oudh, tobacco
Tanning by definition in Pearland
Follow the drinking ghosts
Meaning and its static synonyms
Waves of Hippocratic oaths
Photography has condemned this property
Its not like you allow invitations
in your shrine to light blue
Medieval subterraneous prisons and labyrinths
Salvador Dali, tourmaline, sepulchral
The darkest scent I own
Obscure, narcotic, resinous
Theres a silver scent similar to machetes
The earliest days of machine translation
takes place on the years
This is going to hurt
and turn complicated, supernatural
Kiss these worksheets
Use the word international in a sentence
A camphoraceous, ancient wake
A spark of modern-chic
Highly dangerous, naughty
I wear this scent in order to cut boldly the crowd
as an hypnotic vampire
in smoky appalling night clubs
all around the world
Runelocus, textured, paintable

Describe a barracuda based on a known end
An orchestra wearing Venus dresses and blue watches
Affluence in descent, geisha-ed affections
Hold up these flowers
they are too heavy
[ Ornaments Bracelets Diamond Ring Pearl / You're currently: Home / Maybe it was the quirky name / the unusual wooden
stoppered bottle or the jet- coloured juice that attracted me / This bottle of perfume is part of the project Nasomatto / Like its not
enough to smoke it and eat it / NIGHTTIME / INTOXICATING!]
A
gradient
ink
travels
back
A gradient ink travels toward a black center

Our daring drops away into light, bright and well dried
There are police dogs sniffing at the bottom of your door
In mystery and conspiracy
rumor smuggles its raw material
Love is luminous and fragrant
transformed by blow
The base-fueling materials have turned into contraband
Your voice turns over like months in Afghanistan
in highly summarized materials
A makeshift understanding and its secondary effects
Our temporary functions search for dice
She puts the sleeping pill in pill
This nerezza, this famous dangerous one
this coffee, oudh, tobacco
She wonderfully wastes her fragrant behaviors
How cruelty circles in tobacco black
Action sets a fact in you never to be strange
Suck at these axed chips
Its hard on you
Perhaps we have already said that this fragrance increased your honesty
Months of family sleep regression
Printable songs in French
Deer eat shrubs in the fall
The constraints of grammar and the reformation of England
There is a graphic nature to this program
The negative power of the nearest one hundredth
Necklace necromancer
The longevity and the sillage

are stunning and impressive
The scent is so viscous it could stain
I agree with its crudity
its experimental, hardcore modernism
Dirty and brooding. Enough for me
The roughness of clothing, objects, evil, endings
There is a rubber heart stamp where her heart used to be
The need for space travel to make steel
Unharmless to the body
Maximum ride theory
Women seem submitted
by its otherworldly, orgiastic, mellow cruelty
Concentrated and almost viscose
This is a (st)inky-black extrait
The first thing which came to my mind after trying it on
was the book "Das Parfum"
What is the wingspan of this messenger?
The winking lizard twins, their fanfictions
Indulge the desert
Even her pants were toxic
Those winter Sundays
Those funny little people who do not learn from history
Those arent pillows, those are people who died
Those arent muskets, those are dogs
Those anarchist punks are mysterious across the river
[It is in my collection but I don't wear it too often except on those days I want funk / Question: black and black and black and grey?
/ Direct, explicit names / Carnality made fragrance / Folly of smell / Fusion of scents / This is the NASOMATTO mood /
Nasomatto the Italian perfume brand that claims to be the work of a "crazy nose" might finally convince the last of the remaining
skeptics]
Deepblack into your well-traveled heart
Imprisonment is factual
The lower parts of your secrets bite to conspire
The mouth of Afghanistan provides oil, stones
We were in agony to feel naturally
We admit all fragrant materials of war
Even the smoke was uniform
Sleeping pills noble and wise

They are officially approved as being dangerous
How cruel the waste of coffee, tobacco, oudh
When tobacco is not a strange fact in you
ax a chip off this smell and hold it
against your heart
Ask the universe for some dance ideas
Obviously youre not a golfer
Your nosejob is not hidden
Telusive
No its a cardigan but thanks for asking
No itch insulation
It doesnt hurt unless I walk or use proper grammar
Doesnt she look natural like top shelf liquor?
Smell explosives from a distance
Nice enough
but it's M7 for triple the price
It's my little secret among my friends
I won't tell them what it is
I like having something all to my own
This isn't for the person who doesn't wish to be noticed
Trust me, you will be noticed with Black Afgano and the impression will last
Exactly what is hospice?
Buttons, beatbox
Burning rubber
Burning things
Burning wow for cataclysm
Burning mouth syndrome
The house in my heart burned
Tar-rich tobacco
A little oud to make it ethereal
A little leather
A good bit of patchouli
A bit of heliotrope for a cherry topping
and alot of other things that I can't make heads or tails of
brewed into a silky black-brown cloud
that is very comfortable and easy to enjoy despite being so dense and unusual
Weve taken the liberty of ending all these earthen vessels

We offer up scary scenarios
Black pepper, blueprints, blackboards
There was an invasion of idols
Island luck with meat glue
How can you capture someone elses special moments?
[I would love to buy large quantities / Black Afgano, the last nose of the family Nasomatto (insane nose) will be able to please the
most anticonformist ones / Available now to help you legally scratch your itch for illicit pleasures / It doesn't wash off / Black Afgano
reminds me of morning / The smell of cooking fires linger in the air, the tobacco smoke / The dark brown juice is syrupy]
sleeping pills
oudh
smoke
The deep black heart, its travel, its suggestions

Finish and shine this event
Are there police in your lower parts?
Do they bite and conspire?
There was an illegal distribution of your fundamental voice
It sounds like oil and gravel in your mouth
His Afghan because
the eye and its pressure to shine
Summarize your attention, your distress
You examine the ground and the depth of the smoke
its profit and loss
A house completely filled with sleeping pills, oudh and smoke
What causes a shattered sun?
Scant quarter inch seams
Things will end avenged sevenfold
Creation sings with me now
Yesterday was lit by fools
Sing amen with nothing to do and I am unaware
The prophets are moments, fading stars
The children are spoilers
How many emotions are on available on Facebook?
Recite the elements in alphabetical order
What are the effects of bullying on the body?
Despite the gimmickry of the name and concept
and the heaviness of the scent
he steadfastly refuses to give out note lists
His reasoning goes that each wearer should experience
a Nasomatto scent for themselves
without any preconceptions
Heart lemons, head and neck arteries, ginger

Soot smothered, silk, asters
Melty, easy, diffuse layers of ever deepening debt
There is an astronomy to her auburn hair
A coat made of amethyst pearls makes a memory of light
Our of yet another
Who did those feet in ancient times?
Her distilled waters
I get a deep incense accord
and this is paired with an unsmoked menthol cigarette tobacco vibe
This tobacco accord comes off
the way a pack of menthol cigarettes smells after the wrapper is removed
As we move into the heart
a distinct oud appears
The base is classic dirty patchouli
Distributive property
Fabric, fallacies, dahlias and crows
The black colors on my monitor are green
Plexiglass, perforated paper, matter in liquid
Without a valid and random sampling
Pinkscarlet summary, the history of reading habits, of emeralds
Terror and revelation
In how many movies did John Wayne die?
How to draw an f?
How to draw Barbie?
How to apply eyeshadow?
How to divide fractions?
Define my vigorous interest
Blurred vision backsplash hair dye
[Katie made the link between skunk the animal and skunk the herb / An ink-colored hashish-based fragrance reportedly
painstakingly sourced from behind the lines of fire in Afghanistan / Black Afgano is now bottled in a 2 Liter giant incarnation of itself
/ with the same burnt oak wood cap, and its new name is Black Afgano Extrait de Parfum 2000 ml / Alessandro Gualteri the
perfumer behind the project said he simply fancied having the object stand in his bathroom / I've been impressed with the three fumes I
tested from Nasomatto: Black Afgano, Duro, and Pardon / Black Afgano is my fave]
There are dares between you

Stop reading right now
if you want to capture the quality of this mystery
Let rumors twirl the months into rope
But the wait definitively has value
The smell of the wait is not accurate
Blinking, blinking
This darkness is a study to awaken your provisory happiness
without all the secondary effect
Rich and hypnotic, dark and implacably beautiful
We are totally involved, never overpowered
Our own surprise is a narcotic incense
like oudh, like tobacco
Bliss without all the side effects
Without alternative medicine, Ill die in jail
Red light therapy, rain
Hell followed when he talked to her
Hyperthreading
Hypertransport
Hyperfocus
Hypnotize yourself with liquor
Oud and tobacco absolute, however, are some of my favorite notes
and I love ashen/tobacco type scents
so this one still should be a winner for me, but it's not. Why?
An unfinished work, that's the saddest part
The concept was great
but it wasn't really fleshed out accurately
Daisy scroll cotton wide lace
There is dangerous swimwear, noble gas
To drain raw beef using Velcro
Oudh sugar, La llorona, beautifully accurate, broken
A relentlessly cheerful art beaten in snow
Membranes of algebra , concrete pipes in fluid jackets
A shadow, by definition, glows
Black Afgano combines

the floral/aromatic/anise-y absinth accord of Absinth
with the warm, dry cedarwood of Duro
Nasomatto seems to use a similar dusty/bitter ("poisonous"?) accord
for all of their "drug themed" fragrances
(Absinthe, China White, Black Afgano)
One star off for lack of originality
(and the silly name)
Assassin, sushi, sin
Overpowered chicken splitter
We heart it
Can honey lighten your eye color?
Say yes to something, anything
Honeysuckle, for example, or the rosary
Fires embrace her frail shells, her fragile breathing
Shes derived from what Italian word?
Say this out loud
[Meant to draw attention with references to illegal substances / Of course none of them actually contain such materials / THIS SPLIT
HAS BEEN CLOSED / A heady, overpowering blend of hashih, burned weeds, resins, tobacco and oud / It has an underlying
acrid quality / A new fragrance for women and men / Like comments, which Stumblers liked it / Absinth Black Afgano China
White Duro Hindu Grass Narcotic Venus Nuda Pardon Silver Musk / The most transgressive men's fragrance I sniffed
was Black Afgano by Nasomatto / said to include distilled hashish / Raspy and tarry, tempered]
months
of
proper
reaching
Turn off the ink in your heart

so that it laughs in spirit separately from you
Stop reading these secret intrigues, these rumors
Stop supporting these months of proper reaching
Raw materials blink inside us
How to keep awake to our provisory happinesses
without a secondary influence?
Love is a mixture of coffee, oudh, darkness, danger
We each become the beautifully implacable one
An incense amazingly never not
in fragrant narcotic honesty
Spring 2015
Alex Neely
A Wrangler
I was at a gas station in the desert of West Texas when I met the man I wanted to kill. His name:
Arturo Del Toro. My wifes ex-husband. My familys El Cucuy. And up until this particular night, similar to
the Mexican boogeyman, I only knew the man through stories.
There was the time he held a shotgun to my wifes chest. Which only reminds me of the story, when
he hit a person with a car to shut im up. And of course, who could forget the time he bit a police officer in
the throat? He surely was the perfect combination of American arrogance and Mexican bravado; a character,
if not for life circumstances, I would have only met in the waiting room to Hell.
And yet, I couldnt wait to see him, to catch a glimpse of the ghost-monster in his natural setting
nighttime. What a treat? My skin crawled with anticipation. Mouth dried. Fingers pulsed. And this was all
before I left the house. All before I entered the family Jeep. It was my bodys raw response, a biological
preparation for the unknown.
But how did my wife see it? We have to go pick up the little one. Pick up the little one?!? Is that all
you have to say? Cant you see there is far more at stake? My very manhood is hanging in the balance! No,
this not just any pick up; it was a meeting of primordial proportionsan ol school, Wild West stand-off. A
quick draw of daddy love. Two men enter. One man leaves.
It was the sky I remember next. The clouds, eerie errant strokes of gray, spread across the darkness.
Slowly moving, they continued to expose and hide hundreds of visible stars, like spiritual spectators, all
watching a stage lit by a bright white moon. I, the protagonist, obliged. Entering the Jeep, I was more
conscious of the plot than the path.
The Jeep seemed to drive itself. A left onto Pendale Road. A right onto Gateway Boulevard. A left onto
Lee Trevino Drive. A merge onto I-10 West. The traffic was of the Sunday night variety. Families heading
home from a day of religion. Trucks, packed with supplies, coming from or heading to a far-off destination.
Men and women who worked the graveyard shift. And us. A mother. And a stepfather.
To the others, we must have seemed like just another vehicle on the highway. To us, we were picking
up our little one. But to me, we were passengers on a ride to a spousal showdown. There must have been
music or conversation at some point, but I cant recall. Who could in a time like this? Well, I guess my wife
could.
She sat in the passenger seat exuding the calm nature of a seasoned warrior. Her eyes seemed to
calmly ripple like two mirages set in a sanctuary of tanned skin. I felt myself oddly aroused. Not sexually. But
in the awe-inspired sense, like a young boxer hypnotized by the presence of a legend. She had seen some shit.
Conquered demons. Overcome pitfalls. And most importantly, defeated her ex-husband.
Sure, there were many nights he left her bruised. Beaten. Crying alone and bloody on the living room
floor. He even stole her truck, furniture and money. But, through it all, she kept her daughter. Kept her
daughter alive. Safe. Happy. Healthy. It was a victory only a mother could truly understand. And one that
provided her with an unyielding confidence.
I asked if she was nervous, and she chuckled. Not a laugh. A chuckle. The sort of bouncing exhale a
parent gives a child, when they ask: how was I born? She placed her left hand on my right thigh. Why? Are
you nervous? A half-smile crawled up her right cheek. Two rows of pristine whiteness flickered like light off
a blade. Nervous? Me?
I instantly saw flashes of my stepdaughter, Arlina, clinging to her father. Crying. Screaming. Wailing.
No, I dont want to go with Alex. Please, mom! Please! Dont make me go! Hes not my dad. Hes not my dad! Hes not
my dad!
Nervous? Cmonlets be serious.
She was. I wasnt. My puffed up chest and flexed muscles were filled with more air than my answer. A
pin or butterfly knife would send the entire structure crumbling. Alex, youll be-
A cell phone rang. The patriotic tune of a country singer pushed at the seams of my wifes purse.
Sorry, she said, sifting through the handbag. The singer kept on twanging away about something to do
with America. John Deere tractors. And beer.
What now, Arturo?
Up ahead, the two-dimensional shadow of mountains rose on the horizon, like knuckles on a fist. We
were in Gods country. Buildings were less frequent. Farmhouses were more visible. Yucca bushes and sunfried patches of grass stretched into the darkness. Tire tracks, pressed into the sand, cut random paths
through the desert. A billboard displayed an advertisement for Abundant Living, the local mega-church.
The site of two white trailers was followed by miles of barbed wire fences. A lonely antique warehouse
displayed a parking lot full of stage coaches. Fucking stage coaches! To city-folk, we were in the middle of
nowhere.
Why not? My wifes voice split the air like an audible razor. Babe? Whats wrong? I said it and
immediately regretted it. Her left hand patted the air near my face. It was a silent act of quiet, the adults are
talking. But I read it as: quiet, the real parents are talking. What a bitch, I thought; doesnt she understand, how
much that hurts?
Fine. Okay. Fine. You better be there. And with that, she shoved the phone back into her purse. I
figured Id wait to ask. Better to get reprimanded for not caring then pandered to about timing, I thought.
Now, he wants us to meet him in Horizon, she said, staring bullet holes through the windshield. Where? I
hesitatingly pushed the question forward. It was a cop out; the way I treated that word. If she got angry, I
would make it look like the question escaped my mouth. At a gas station off the highway.
The exit for Horizon, Texas, is number 214 on I-10. It has two gas stations. No point in asking which, I
thought, she would direct me later. So, I refocused on the road. Black concrete. Painted white lines. Dimly lit
by speeding lights. It gradually ascended. Higher. Higher. Higher. Until the highway touched the sky. And
then, a downturn. To a flat road.
Soft yellow lights, like candles held by the darkness, poked from either side of the highway. There, in
the distance, stood the gas stations. The exit. Horizon, Texas. It is there, my enemy awaits. I felt my upper lip
snarl at the idea. Hands tighten on the steering wheel. Right foot press a little harder on the gas. This was my
march to the fatherly frontlines.
My wife adjusted in her seat, straightening her back. Phone, once again in hand. On the screen, a
message: Im running late. Her sigh was not of shock but exhaustion. I didnt bother to ask if she was
alright; I knew she wasnt. She was tired. Tired of the games. Tired of the bullshit. Tired of being tired. Hes
running late, so well just wait in the parking lot. I nodded. There was nothing my voice could settle.
The truck turned off the highway at exit 214. It slowed to 40 mph. A sign at the intersection read: Stop.
And naturally the truck did. On our right: Petros Stopping Center. And across the bridge, on our left: Loves
Gas Station. Hes going to meet us at Loves.
Of course he is, I mumbled. And smiled. But hes running late, so just park near the back; that way we
can see when he shows up.
No problem. The sign to Loves has a bright red heart in place of the letter o. Lit up and mixed with
the cheap yellow, overhead lights; the heart produces a strange color on the gray concretesomewhere
between jaundice and fungal nail infection. At this hour, only seven cars are in the parking lot. However, a
variety of work trucks all different sizes and shapes surrounded the property. Locally, rumors swirl of a
prostitution ring at truck stop gas stations in Horizon. But, so far, no hookers were spotted.
The truck parked. Time: 11:17 p.m. I hadnt thought to look until this very moment. Its a strange time
and day to be at a gas station. What are all of these people doing, I wondered. Buying gas. Eating snacks. Going
the bathroom. And us? Picking up a child. And, at that very moment, my stepdaughter seemed similar to a
possession. Christ, the entire thing felt illegal. Like a drug deal. Or human trafficking. I felt dirty for me. I felt
dirty for my wife. Moreover, I felt dirty for the child. I mean, look what its come to? A fucking gas station at
11:17 at night on a Sunday.
There. Hes here. I looked but saw nothing. Just strange lights, cars, trucks and darkness. Over
there, my wife said, as if she heard my silent suffering. There, beyond the gas station pumps, below the
glowing heart: a black Ford Excursion. Silver grill. 32-inch tires. It didnt really drive as much as it pushed its
way through the parking lot, rolling past inferior machines. This is the kind of vehicle marauders will
masturbate to after Judgment Day.
The truck slowed. And I searched for his face. But the passenger door faced us. The truck slowed. I
couldnt see his face. It was all so dark. Then, the truck stopped. Just feet within my stock 2004, Jeep
Wrangler. The contrast made me feel like I was showering next to Peter North. My wife felt it. I was certain
of it. And Im sure he did too. Just sitting there in his apocalyptic Trojan horse, staring down at us. What a
pathetic sight I must have looked like?!? Oh please sir, have mercy on us. We are but commoners of the machine.
And know no better.
My wife released an exhale, either in exhaustion or in appreciation. You wanna stay here? The
words exited her mouth behind a breath. I couldnt tell if she wanted me to go or not. Did she want me to
valiantly parade myself out in front of the Jeep, pound my chest and frantically bark? Full-on primitive
intimidation. Or take the high road, and sit in the truck quietly? Modern male silence. I didnt know. So, I
made her say it again. Im sorry, what?
Just stay here, Im goin to go get her. Wait, what happened? Hold on! Give me a second chance! Let me
think! I heard the door close and watched her walk toward her ex-husbands truck. Oh Christ, what kind of
man am I? This man was a felon in two states. And I just sat and watched. Watched as my wife walked. All
alone. The passenger door opened. My five-year old stepdaughter emerged. She appeared to me as an infant;
too small to exit the truck and too young to understand the situation.
My wife, holding Arlinas hips with both hands, helped her onto the concrete. Safe. Happy. Healthy.
The little girl wore a Hello Kitty backpack and held a white, Styrofoam bowl of Ramen noodles. No doubt
her dinner, from the fine cook her father is. I winced at the thought.
From inside my Jeep, I saw my wifes mouth move. She was speaking to her daughter. The little one
responded with enthusiasm, wildly waving the bowl through the air while spilling noodles. Her mouth and
body moved in a spastic fashion: part adorable and part retarded. I couldnt help but laugh. Oh to be young
The truck engine roared. My wife motioned to Arlina. They both walked to the back of the truck and
over to the drivers side. Save for the slim and short image of legs, they were out of sight. I could feel my
heart beat. Sweat. Nerves. A third set of legs denim and muscular fell into the frame under the truck. He
wore white cowboy boots, ribbed and pointed. Perfect for a shootout. Each step. Slow. Calculated. Heel, toe.
Heel, toe. I could picture his fingers, thick and tan, elevating over a Remington Steel six shooter. Heel, toe.
Heel, toe.
My wifes legs were now several feet from the boots. My stepdaughters: inches. They were there. And
I was here. They were they. And I was I.
I heard only breathing. My breathing. Inhaleexhale. Inhaleexhale. Inhaleexhale. I wrapped my

left hand slowly around the door handle. I pulled. The door opened slightly, enough to hear the world but
remain closed. My Jeep filled with the pungent scent of gasoline. Do something, mother fucker; I dare you. I
fucking dare you. And then, I felt it. I felt the bizarre liberation that washes over you the moment you
understand you have the capability to kill. Murder. End a life. It is a primeval epiphany. Do it. Do it! Do It!
The cowboy boots moved, rose and disappeared. Into the Excursion. Out of sight. Hidden. Invisible.
My wife and stepdaughter came around from behind the truck. Both smiling. I smiled. They waved. And I
waved. My left hand opened the driver door, closed it and rested on my lap. I inhaled and released a loud
sigh. The radio stayed silent. No music could soundtrack this moment.
I leaned over the console, grabbed the passenger door handle and opened. My stepdaughter mid-story
about a dog she saw. it had brown spots, and blue eyes, crawling onto the middle console, and it was so
nice mommy, so nice, and guess how big it waslike this big, spreading her arms open. My wife sat and
closed the passenger door.
The thin, little arms of Arlina wrapped around my neck. She kissed me, in only the way small, thin
little kid lips can. My wife began to laugh. I laughed at her laughing. She laughed harder at my laughing.
And our little one laughed at our laughing. It was an auditory cocktail: part love, part exasperation and part
insanity. We made it. Everyone was alive. Safe. Happy. Healthy.
A red light cast onto the concrete, up the Jeep hood and over our three bodies. All three of us squinted.
It was the brake lights of the truck, Arturos truck. The Excursion growled. Switched gears. Growled again.
Lumbered through the parking lot, onto the road, over the bridge and into the dark. He was there. He was
he.
Yet, we were still here. We were we.
Spring 2015
Adreyo Sen
Odd Ball
Mumbai
I have two early memories of my years in Mumbai.
In the first, I am very small and in a blue frock, standing in the corner of a black room. There is a
greater blackness in front of me, the ancient bed whose blackness menaces the air. I know that the two
lumps on it are my parents and that if I run to them, Ill be safe.
In those years, my father used to make a little tent-refuge for me with the bedsheets and his legs. I
would be so excited when he came home from work that I would dance in front of him at the door.
My second memory is of the stained nightdress our maidservant used to wear. She was a haggard,
evil-looking crone and I used to run from her gap-toothed adoration and stench of stale onions.
My mother caught me trying to crawl into the nightdress when it was lying forlornly on our
maidservants bed.
In my early years in Mumbai, I spoke no English. That I went from speaking Bengali to speaking
only English goes to that friend of my mothers who undertook to teach me. I am not sure whether I was
more in love with her elegantly-garbed beauty or her perfumed stack of Noddy books.
My best friend at school was Rohit. He was Batman to my Robin, Shah Rukh Khan to my Amitabh
Bachchan. One day, outside the auditorium, I lunged at a group of seniors as my mother approached,
imagining myself as He-Man coming to her defence. I looked back at Rohit as they beat me up, prior to my
mother effortlessly pushing them away. He hadnt come to my aid.
Through Rohit, I became an avid collector of Gi-Joes. His worn out, gentle mother bought me my
first one. Going to his house on the weekends, I would generally fall out with him and his bullying sister,
later a stunning beauty. His mother would make us delicious Nutella sandwiches.
On the school bus, the many alarmingly pink seniors would take offence at my tendency to romance
and would twist my arms behind me. I had a nemesis in my year on that bus, a ferret-faced boy. We fought
after fervid amicability when I was taken to his house to bond.
At school, I was envious of the little perfumed notebooks and fancy erasers that the other boys had. I
would steal these pretty things, right until my mother took me out to buy my own collection of dainty
desirables (which I soon lost). That evening, I was quite in love with my mother and importuned her to be
allowed to bring her roses from our buildings vast garden.
My best friend in the building was a little Sikh boy named Arjun who had an army of soft toy Bart
Simpsons and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. He would arouse my ire by pushing me into the pool, but my
later diving onto his shoulders was quite unintentional.
I went through a phase of being fascinated by slugs. They were prolific in the building garden and I
would pick them up and observe their tepid meanderings on my palm. And then my mother lectured me on
their filthiness and I had nightmares where slugs and ants were crawling all over my body.
Those years, I was terrified by elevators and my mother expended many pages trying to explain their
mechanism. But that didnt stop me from having nightmares about being stuck on the top of an elevator for
the rest of my life.
Mumbai is close to Goa and we would go there every year. We also went to the village of Thul, where
my mother did research for her PhD.
I was close to the guest house managers tomboyish little girl and we would discuss our career plans
with great seriousness. Thul is on a seafront and I acquired and killed my first pet crab in the space of a
single afternoon, my tennis ball falling into its bucket and murdering it.
In Goa, I fell in love with a plump girl who was munching a doughnut, her obnoxious mother in tow
(who refused to buy me a doughnut). The next morning, I fell in love with her all over again as she pranced
at the front of a train composed of adoring children, resplendent in a pink frock. But she spurned my
advances. Her lieutenant, a little Sikh boy, rebuked me, She says you dirty. Go away.
My school, Campion, was a boys-only school, rather Christian in composition. I scandalized my

classmates by claiming to be Satan and they backed away from me in horror. Assembly was a dismal affair,
except for the occasion when they played Michael Jacksons Lets Make the World a Better Place.
My first grade teacher kept me out of mischief by gifting me a folder and a stack of lined sheets. I
wrote little essays on the pillow that was my security blanket and to which I would later take a scissor and
the sun and the moon. Two of my efforts were published in the school magazine.
My second-grade teacher was the pretty and dainty Miss. Dias, who was not so forgiving of the
trouble I would cause with my reckless imagination. She would beckon me forth, a ruler in her slender
hand, and rap me on the head.
I was guilty of one real sin in those two years. I had put my hand behind the doorjamb of the library
in idle curiosity at the precise moment that a senior sauntered inside, slamming it shut. I blamed the
resulting vivid yellow designs on my sore hand on a mythical senior.
But there was a senior of that name and he waxed scathing on my attempts to get him into trouble
and my general resemblance to a budding delinquent.
In my last days in Mumbai, I went to stay with Rohit for a day. True to form, we quarreled, and I was
sulking in the living room when his forever patient mother presented me with a parting gift: three new GiJoes and t-shirts I had no use for.
Chennai
At Padma Sheshadri, my school for those two years, I was madly in love with dainty and dark Divya,
who was shy in the face of my belligerent adoration.
But my behavior with Rohini (briefly, thank God) turned her and the anemically pretty girl who
surrendered her lunchbox to me every recess, against me.
Roshni was an improbably pretty girl, fawning and eager-to-please, somehow friendless and
suspected of thievery. During a disagreement with her, I slapped and scratched her.
The sad thing is, no one really rebuked me. But at home, I was assailed by a terrible guilt and wrote a
fervent letter to God, to the considerable amusement of my parents.
But my behavior to Roshni didnt change and I coolly spurned her attempts to join my creative
writing group.
I got a Good Conduct medal in both my years at Padma Sheshadri, despite my behavior to Rohini.
But my music teachers were not so enamored with the amusicality I would later be charged with at
Doon. One, a poetically mustachioed, elongated Jack Kerouac who was very enthusiastic about our
breadboxes, the Western Music teacher, thawed towards me when I showed him my little autograph book
full of poetry.
I would later attempt to sell this book of poetry, brandishing it at the bewildered shop clerk at
Landmark Bookstore. My father rescued the poor man.
The other, an alarmingly potbellied man, was moved to affectionate derision by my mangled but
sincere attempts to recite the Sanskrit verses and patted me on the back with great gusto.
Padma Sheshadri was the only place where I was ever popular and I thrived in my role as the Big
Man in the classroom. My only (and rather sorry) antagonist was Muthu, who harangued my mother about
my yellow teeth.
My inconveniently obsessed fan was the intense and curly-haired Abhinaya, who was determined to
serve as my secretary and co-author. Her brother was the weakly humourous Abhishek. I was myself in love
with the very white and delicate Shyam Sundaram Rao, who was slow to accept his status as my best friend.
But he finally did, to my continued agonized delight.
Together, we were the class literary mafia and I remember leading my friends to the monkey gym,
climbing inside and lecturing them severely, about our glorious future as writers, while the other children
gaped in wonder.
I also remember a wonderful, long day in Abhinayas massive, crumbling yellow house where we
quarreled, made up and wrote. I was scandalized by the discovery that her father was a shopkeeper and
unapologetic about his amassing of wealth.
My only memory of my evening with Shyam prior to my departure for Delhi was his toy trucks
astounding ability to fit an entire Gi-Joe into its front compartment.
It was in Chennai that my father hit me for the first and the last time. I had discovered a 50 rupee
note on the ground and had tried to buy a five rupee box of mints with it, before being surrounded by a
group of instant friends. A teacher took the note from me and told my mother.
She was uncharacteristically gentle as she took me home at the end of classes. But the same evening,
my father sat me down in front of him and slapped me again and again. I was to have no birthday
celebration that year.
It was in Chennai that I discovered Edith Nesbit, my parents having bought me a stack of her books
all at once. It was also in Chennai that I went from being the relentless murderer of cockroaches to being
terrified of them. I will never be able to understand why.
Delhi
My three year stay in Delhi (not counting the years I was enrolled at Doon) were the worst years of
my life. This was the period when my father was more away in Kolkata than he was at home. And when he
was home, he and my mother fought incessantly. My mother was tense when he was at home, but even
more so when he was in Kolkata. This was a period when she was often irritable and angry with me, making
me feel magnified in my clumsiness and uncouthness.
It would have helped if I had friends. But events were conspiring to gradually render me painfully
conscious of a complete absence of friends, both at the housing estate where I lived and in the school where I
studied, DPS East of Kailash and later, DPS, R.K. Puram.
This was a period when I thought things could only get worse. I longed for an ending, or for a way
out, something to get out of the grey misery of a Delhi existence, bleakly punctuated by Monday tests.
The first way out revealed itself to be a delusive fancy, a hacked-out expression of the pain I had
suppressed inside. The second was to lead to a transformative experience. That was my admission to Doon.
In a funny way, my anxieties over my parents fighting cathects with one of the brighter memories of
my life in Delhi. I suppose my fear of my parents divorcing must have been a very real one for I am
supposed to have vexed my grandfather via letter on this question. And after the two of them had a
particularly acrimonious argument, they made it up to me by buying me a packet of chips. This packet,
however, did not come with the guarantee that I was looking for: that they stop fighting.
The packet of chips was a godsend it was not yet Friday which meant that that week, an additional
Tazo could be added to my collection.
Every Friday, I would walk to the grocery store near my house and purchase a packet of Lays. Friday
was my free day the day I did no schoolwork and I would read and eat my chips slowly. Each packet also
contained a Tazo, a circular disc or pog, featuring Batman or Looney Tunes or some other such cartoon
character. It was the first time in my life I had taken to collecting something.
The fourth standard in Delhi starts at a later date than that in Chennai and so there was a long
window of time when I didnt have to attend classes. Prior to leaving for work at the Planning Commission,
my mother would set me homework assignments a little bit of Math, a little bit of English and so on.
Ignoring my tearful protests, my father also attempted to drum some algebra into me.
I saw the homework as a distraction from the thrilling world of television. Inexplicably in Bombay
and Chennai, Id never been much given to watching television. Here, I was enthralled by the Cartoon
Network. Who knew that there could be so many cartoons and that they could all be so good? I was
particularly enthralled with Scooby Doo. My father viewed my television addiction with patent disapproval.
One of the first people I met at Technology Apartments the apartment complex where we stayed
was Utsav. And through him, I learnt of the quaint custom whereby Delhi boys and girls address boys and
girls even just a few years older to them in age as bhaiya and didi. I insisted on egalitarianism and this was
later to prove my undoing.
Like me, Utsav was creative and full of ideas and together, we whiled away many pleasant hours
pretending to be policemen or forensic pathologists. But I was contemptuous of a friendship so readily given
and was not as nice to Utsab as I should have been.
Through Utsav, I joined the circle of girls who played by themselves every evening in the apartment
lawns. Prior to my arrival, Utsav was the only boy in their midst. They were quite serious about their play,
these girls. Under the leadership of a girl called Kaavya, rather more handsome than pretty, and a dark
beauty named Anuradha, they played kho-kho sedately or converted the buildings, with their many warrens
and blind spots, into the perfect place for hide-and-seek.
The warning bells rang rather rapidly as far as I was concerned. Already, they were befuddled b my
name and contemptuous of my readiness to simply be known as Adi. And then there was the fact that I
only spoke English.
But the real problem was that which was to be the bane of my life for a long time my lack of
hygiene. Once, when we were playing kho-kho, some of the girls came around to admire the hole in my
shorts, while I stared oblivious into space. Why wasnt I even concerned that I had a hole in my pants?
Soon after, at a game of hide-and-seek, all the girls made it clear that they were hiding from me and
not whoever it was. I arrived home, heartbroken. Some of the girls apologized the next day, but I knew
they were only doing it under parental pressure.
And soon after, at yet another well-organized game, little Krutika, Kaavyas sister, scrunched up her
little nose and said she didnt want to play with me. Kaavya bless her told me in her fair, firm voice that
while shed have liked to continue to include me in their games, none of the other girls wanted me around
on account of my roughness and smelliness.
Mollified, rather than hurt, by this gentle slap on the cheek, I ambled off.
In the midst of all this drama, my school career at DPS had started. Initially, I had planned to set
myself up as the class clown alongside a seemingly kindred spirit called Ankur, but this role seemed to
require more meanness than clean-hearted fun and so I dropped the idea. Besides, I was more jealous of
tautly good-humoured Mrs. Sharmas good opinion than otherwise.
I recall little of my experience of Class V, except for an unreciprocated hatred for an unbelievably
smug boy called Rahul Mahajan Nand Kishore. In conjunction with that weighty name, he already looked
like a prosperous lawyer.
In Class IV, I acted in the school production, a mish-mash of fairy-tales called Crazee Treasure
Trail. My character was that of Pinocchio and I was becoming very good friends with my sidekick whose
name and character I have now forgotten.
That friendship was temporarily marred by the bus ride from the campus to the dress rehearsals.
The bus was over-full and thus my sidekick sat on my lap. (For some reason, this was a privilege, to have a
smaller boy sit on a bigger boys lap.) Midway through the journey, however, he looked at me with
suspicion. I discovered an odd hardness in my pants, but had no way of explaining it.
Luckily, our friendship survived that incident, even if it did not survive the conclusion of the play.
After the frenzied rush of rehearsal, I found it difficult to get back into the rhythm of class. I was
stricken when Mrs. Sharma attributed badly done Math homework to my having grown too big for my
boots. Still, I vindicated myself at the end of the semester by scoring full marks in Mathematics.
Between the end of my two years at DPS East of Kailash and the beginning of DPS RK Puram,
Mayank invited me to his birthday party.
In the last week at East of Kailash, simian and acerbic Mayank and his cousin, the sweet and cherubic
Abhinav got me excited about a pre-departure pigout.
Despite my mothers warnings, I went to the last day of class with three shiny cans of coke. They
were very grateful, but they had got nothing. I reveled in my brief popularity.
My fondest memory of my evening at Mayanks is the ice cream float that his mother made for us.
We played hide-and-seek and one of the boys persuaded me to wear a hairband under Mayanks sisters
bedsheets to disguise myself. His sister, who was playing with us, apprehended me and suspected me of
perversion.
Mayanks grandmother, however, suspected me of being Krishna, the blue-skinned, flute-playing
Indian god on account of my curly hair.
Mayanks father drove me home and I was in love with the suave, mustachioed man who told me I
had a good command of English. He was not so pleased when I couldnt give him adequate directions.
Im so sorry, I said with sudden shyness. He laughed in a strained fashion and patted my thigh.
DPS RK Puram had a fleet of buses to take us home, long rows of yellow buses outside the gate. Our
bus took a whole hour to get me home.
In my last year at East of Kailash, I had managed to dirty my pants on a school excursion (the result of
a pig-out at a restaurant the night before) and I was notorious among my new busmates for this, as well as
my supposed effeminacy. It didnt help that Id gone from being loud and brash to being little more than a
whisper.
I was mocked and one of the boys would sit at the front so that he could kick me as I was leaving the
bus. My mother wondered at the footprints on my pants, but didnt push for an explanation.
My respite on those bus rides was the vocabulary games I would play with the grade twelves, under
the leadership of the erudite Biswajit.
But Biswajit teasingly prevented me from leaving the bus on the last day before summer vacations
and I had to get down further down the road.
Walking home I was staring vacantly at a cow, when it decided to charge at me with an irritated snort.
I turned to run and lunged for cover on the ground.
It stood over me phlegmatically, to the laughter of the louts on the road, who made no attempt to
help me.
My knight in a white Maruti car was a middle-aged man who patted the cow till it trotted off and got
me to the hospital before calling my parents.
Things werent much better at the housing estate. I had been playing cricket with a group of boys
who tolerated at best my poor fielding. The same boy I introduced to their midst, the political Swagat,
turned them against me in the space of a week and they took to ignoring my presence or subjecting me to a
catchy litany, Adreyo, fool, fool, fool.
It would be much later, in the months preceding my departure to Doon, that they discovered just
how poisonous Swagat was and made amends. And then, I was gladly surprised to feel genuine friendship
from the boys.
Also, in the last months before going to Doon, I dug a hole for myself by boasting about my imminent
departure, an act that got me a great deal of flak when I was initially only waitlisted.
But I had friends in my last year at DPS: the plumply malicious Rajshri, little, serious and cute
Gautam and the honourable Prateek. My new seat partner, also a new boy at school, Harjaspreet, was
alternately adoring and repulsed by my highhandedness. He gave me the pencil holder and eraser from his
box of Kelloggs in parting and a month into my first semester at Doon, sent me a letter printed in green and
festooned with images and borders from Clip Art.
Spring 2015
Shllow, sat by the sidewalk, whistles two queens and eight hats from his lungs, dervish a wiring dervish in
the mind of an abracadabra tuesday.. joining two sets of hair in a long braid of whimpering orgasm
quartets, the hurried juniper solar system which won plaid and dusk, a fine ghost now draws the lines with a
white house, and woke with stick around like necklaces, of course. Juniper is a small galaxy, the roots are
rooms sweating down the bright handlebars, a dinosaur the lenses length, abracadabra ropes and ribbon
future long, joining the coastal kinky brown ligaments, juicing roses, weekend, understand the need to be
held in secret, all these flurries the distortion wheels if midnight in Texas, I lay under that chandelier
turnkey, at 11 Christmas bulbs, turnover, gorgeous boats in the willow trees floaty aboveground, I am
closing my eyes, juniper trees lining the shore.
WAVES
Human nesting, that gorgeous place inside your dreams that emerges dainty, fully equipped kitchen, hands
Life knives, fingers cutting Your hair before breakfast, and Handling the tissue paper moon
Like skin, but the dark coma Pours from syrup red mouths this early in the house.
But I have been with this Sickness for a very long time, I've been
With you there, and weaving
Whistles to your Irish wingspan Of angelica, the rosaries spinning In your home, there. My fingers
Like ropes, and your fingers like Rosemary bundles lapped 65 in The waves, a dream comes
Now, so galactic it Unravels our snakeskin Boots onto the wooden
Floors and your window sill.
FISH TANK
Sure, your silver nylons (birds, limes) sound like fifteen radios tuned across the floor, indoor omega circle.
Eight pearl nets, full of fish, walk Delaney. Dorm room mobius strips of Pisces around our house locked halo
cellos shimmer snoring squid, kicking zero, an open book of Queensbury. Thirty years of photography,
greens greeted steps by management. Eels suckered two bananas. The very strawberry, very desk, suckered
cherries, looking through my head for combinations. And I lost nothingness, no numbers were lost, no
hearts, not one of my favorite cards. Discount apples at her front door.
your
Thirst hungers for
Love again,
Sweets of dior
VIBRATOR
I have elaborated chambers of my body and mind took the time to do it for 200 tetras , October 30
, which was not a human face but a momentum no ethereal you could get against and steer the
passage with me . So I should keep contacting the diamonds of my faith and let dusk
, a healthy relationship between you and the drive away save my
life and times search area of expertise in my mind is helium , and I felt gorgeous if I wanted
to latch to the art museum.
Chanel shifting waves, satellite television worm holes, life depth yarn is lengths and hearts and
remodeling the universe for a canoe , just
PM
Creek, under apples
Chanting strawberries, for dawn you look lovely.
Grow god inside mismatched sweater, any roomy reward, I've forgotten the make up, so tediously inscribed,
and woke eating storms. grouped in roots is the world, unfolding.
Polley
OLD HIGHWAY
I am in a room of make up - all of the windows are my waiters, under cherry tree, and red doors dancing,
I've no companion
and left between the static gymnasium,
or fork lift the static lines of television, and sweep pill bottles, oh,
found an ocean in speech, over there in the venus fly trap, or over there in the
needles, pills and meth pipe - over there, and in the numbers, filmed in fog the butterflies are full here.
so dancing my way along a narrow highway, in a red velvet cake, mask covered chin - carrying strawberries
for breakfast, I think they should have a healthy fear of melate at night, in the road, a healthy respect for the maniac of grim reaper passing along the road -
Spring 2015
Wade Stevenson
Twelve Days of Love

On the first day I saw you my life began
On the second the seed of desire sprang
On the third a wild bird made the sky whirl
On the fourth I wanted to fuck you
On the fifth you flew away
straight into the net of my arms
You grew a nest in my armpits
On the sixth I heard you cry out
a lovely moan from your deepest lips
On the seventh I caressed your belly fur
You decided to believe in the angel
that brought us together that crazy night
On the eighth I took you on a trip
to the bottom of a jeweled sea
On the ninth you whispered, Millions of years
ago it was still exactly like this.

On the tenth we lay together in holy silence
I told you of my ancient suffering
On the eleventh you clung to me and said, Youre home.
As man and woman, we were primordial one
As dawn broke on twelve, I knew in the veins
Of my blood there would be no more pain
Spring 2015
Vincent Craig Wright
Nothing Touches
We werent putting anything on the Discover until it got paid down but here we were on the way to the mall.
So I told Ronnie-Ann she doesnt deal with thinking like me.
Everybody got shit in their head, she said and rode so slow through the yellow light it felt like shed park in
the intersection.
I cant decide on this blender, I said. Couldnt help it.
She hit the brake. Buster, Ill stop and get a forty.
Thats not it.
She jerked us into Burger King, said, Every time, got out, sat on the hood. Lit a cigarette at me.
The drive-thru guy explaining something, all I could make out was, Please, sounded like I felt.
Ronnie-Ann blew smoke hard through smoke.
Everything was like I felt.
So I got out and asked what happened to Meth-Mouth.
Ronnie-Ann said, What happened to you? Fucking life the way we live. Somebodys mom leaving him with
his grandma and never coming back maybe.
That didnt happen to Meth-Mouth. That happened with Ronnie-Ann and they came back. Just took a year.
And them Christian as Ronnie-Ann pregnant.

She got an abortion because of them and against their beliefs.
Ronnie-Ann took a breath and told me how in seventh grade Meth-Mouth was supposed to say, And a
Happy New Year! at the end of the school play but nothing came out and he stood there until they closed
the curtain on him.
He disappeared in the folds until they found him wrapped up in everything.
She said after that he never knew where to go.
I think thats why he always told that story, she said.
We meet at the Golden Corral to work out the deal, hed start, but Bro calls and hes waiting to get paid so
I go in out the heat, get a table, order a t-bone rare, which comes out quick. Bro gets there, first thing, grabs
my baked potato and drinks my butter off the corner.
Ronnie-Annd get mad we didnt hear him out each time.
Bros talking shit to the waitress, hes smile-acting, turning, but gets tired of his shit because he cant help
getting nasty so manager ladys taking care of us. Im working on my steak and the fuckers sparkling some
shiny seasoning. Bros smiling when he realizes I realize and fuck it I keep eating and every once in a while
he dabs a rock off my steak. Manager-ladys watching, trying to figure us out until Bro sticks a rock to his
fingertip with blood and A-1 sauce and points at her. She disappears into the back so we throw a twenty on
the table and go to get out but Manager-lady figures we aint paying, runs out and slams her hand on the
table when she sees the twenty like itll fly off and before I realize what the fuck Bro goes and grabs my steak
and sets the fucker on her head, standing there like he gave her a hat. She starts cussing him in her native
language, letting him have these windmill punches until the steak slips down her face which Bro grabs and
two blocks down the road throws to a dog tied to a basketball goal.
One day they said Meth-Mouth messed with this teenage girl behind Dunkin Donuts but nobody believed it
not even the police.
That girl dont believe that, Ronnie-Ann said, Thats some shit somebody started.
I told her it added a way to believe, the way he looked.
She said, Id fuck him.
I didnt say anything because what would I?

I would, she said again, the only time I ever heard her call him that, Id fuck Meth-Mouth, like she meant
it, If I wasnt with you, right situation and all.
You wouldnt kiss him, I said.
Fuck you, Buster, she said far enough down she didnt cry and didnt go in the bathroom.
Next morning I took her to The Skillet and we ate real breakfasts and talked about cooking.
She said she always wanted a yellow kitchen, how a yellow kitchen seemed like a life shed cross into.
Light a candle, Buster, in a old bottle and our plates dont match. Can we put that on the horizon? Go on a
fucking walk. People we know walk to get places when their cars in the shop or bikes stole. She looked at
me like we were already moving. I want to walk to not get anywhere.
This little girl in pink rubber boots cried over something she left in Burger King until her dad said something
about never coming back.
They loaded up their mini-van I couldnt tell was red or brown and Ronnie-Ann said, Youre going to talk,
Buster. That and think. The fuck of it, you dont think about what you talk about.
The little girl looked at us like wed always be there.
You dont put anything together.
Whats that about me? I asked.
Youre fucked up, she said.
The little girl turned away like somebody told her then looked back as they drove off.
I used to be that little girl, I said.
No you didnt, she said like dont start this shit too.
Shell remember us sitting here.
You dont know what a little girls thinking, Buster. Trust me.
Shes going to remember she left something.
I gotta pee, Ronnie-Ann said and walked off.
I sat trying not to think.
Only thing we knew his uncle had a farm and always talked about taking him to Redding, turning him into a
hard worker waking up and going to bed early, maybe a beer Saturday afternoons fishing or during the
football game.
Even after I heard from some skinhead turned Christian how Meth-Mouth (He said Benjamin in his
Christian voice. I still saw skinhead in his eyes.) got stabbed at a cookout in San Jose, Id listen to RonnieAnn talk about him plowing and going to church and meeting somebody, and shed say, showing kids
whats in a handful of dirt.
When she came out Ronnie-Ann wore a cardboard crown and said, Lets just do a shot, and drove home
but we forgot. Next morning, on top of the covers with our clothes on, we both knew we were awake but laid
there as long as we could.
Until she said I was right about that girl and I wasnt sure who until Ronnie-Ann rolled over and tried to put
the crown on me but it tore so she wrapped it around my head and kissed me anyway.
Spring 2015
Valerie Smith
The Man in Our Family Portrait

John Whipple Adams and his subjects, 1845
Claimed he was an artist.
A twitching black beard rendition
of Abraham Lincoln,
subtly suggesting:
Have a seat.
I could feel him posing,
the corner of the room off angle.
We would be prayer angels;
he would be god.
Eyelashes fell to a hush.
Blamelessness billowed open
to ill-advising. A handkerchief
caught mid-clutch. Poised,
persuaded. Silence steadied my knees,
my soul covered to dust the floor.
His hand rested, swearing
an oath we wouldnt remember.
To Function or Operate Properly

What if we worked on it,
took it apart,
dismantled it
in the living room
in front of the kids.
What a mess
we would make
of the wheels falling off,
rolling down the stairs,
out the door,
into the street,
past the chorus of foxgloves
heralding, trumpeting,
screaming, shouting heart
failure in a pattern of teardrops.
What tools we would use
against the machine yesterday
rusted over, caking our palms
bloody, metal to the bone.
What of our home?
Mittraphap Road
Fluid destinations,
home locations,
and occupations.
Never too far,
in a way,
we always know
exactly where we are.
When your goals
were north in Nong Khai
and my morals
were south in Saraburi.
Foot and carriage,
hoof and yoke,
packed solid the earth
so long beneath us.
For one day
we would say,
it was worth the time,
distance, calls,
cards and pictures.
We would stop playing
games, rising and falling over
Yen Mountains of marriages,
babies, and too much time away.
Smoother, now
paved six lanes wide,
proud, expanded
by asphalt and cement
to outlast us.
Treating Sarge and Betty to Ice Cream

Sometimes they cant hear
you against so many
other words they heard before.
Repetition is an angry thing.
Sometimes they remember you
better than you were,
better than them. Memory
is a kid in a candy store.
They have no time
to trifle with little
things like longsuffering.
Patience is a gift unwrapped
by grooms and new moms.
Sometimes they dont say
what you wished.
They say what they mean.
Niceties are for knickknacks
and funerals and conversation
is an overdressed picnic guest.
So talk above the fan blowing
history in their ears.
Remember they were better
than they think they were.
Give them time
with their little things,

which is you.
Say the words they wished.
Say what you mean. Repeat it.
Save niceties
for knickknacks and funerals.
Guilty
He left me for dead
at 5:37
with a pillow under my head.
The room went soft into autumn.
Bare light overheard itself
unnecessary.
How still
can a body lay, waiting
for him to come back
and check my breathing,
our faint pulses blending.
This is what I want,
not every time I want
to want it every time
not to have it every time.
I am delirious.
You are oblivious,
meticulous,
cleaning your weapon.
I thought
you left me for dead.
You wrapped me
in daylight instead.
Silver streaks
the pillow under my head.
Spring 2015
Sudha Srivatsan
Lost
Am I the lost one?
Faculties forfeited to secure access
Into the chiffon of betrayal
Swarmed by hoax, concocted sham
Few dwell in corners
Naked offered guises
Now outgrown
Exit deterred,
Conceding, a pick lone
Like snarled in a gossamer ethereal
In store its dawdling tomb.
Fate
What really matters,
Is not if one lost or won
Like so many affirm and perchance
Seem to fathom afore their nod.
To live each minute as large as you can
Cos I have grasped not
The essence of how to live
Larger than the large moment
That just passed me by.
Wonder if anyone ever
Has managed to accomplish
This absurd grave task
And continue to believe in
Its truth-adorned falsehood
Cos plausible is only so much enlargement
That one can do perpetual
Unless one is either god or devil
But human I am and for as long as I am
I dither not or flicker not
Forever like foam, frothing
At the fringes of my boiling soul
Knowing not when to flow over
Or bubble away and disappear
Until poked at or pried upon
By vicious devils my kind
That vacuum the wind
From my silenced mind
If only each moment could go by
Without mocking me
For not living it the way it was fated to be
The artless negotiation
Learnt long after birth
To dialogue with the creator
Over my dawning twisted fate.
Spring 2015
Stephanie Kaylor
texts
Id forgotten how to write, my words
asphalt chalk laid bare before your eyes
washing over as I read in their reflection
lucidity in reverse, a single poem,
a language in which I was bystander,
laughing as I shot each bullet
empty as the dredge I wanted
to tunnel away not from you
but the silence.
Blown Out
I celebrated twice last year,
first on the day itself and again
when it was more convenient
for everyone else. My birthday
followed yours as I followed you
who already had all you needed
without a cake so i took two
bending all the rules
til slanting the cosmos
spilling stardust on my tongue too dry
to say even silently to myself what it was
I wanted. I wanted you but what did I want from
you that you hadnt given up already?
Flesh or phrases & their fated ash, air
stale as last years that came out in a sigh
deferring before the segue from birth
to arbitrary day, no smoke
& mirrors of a wish but a flame
that caught my hair like the open thread
of a firecracker
extinguished before sending me above
with each flicker like a shard
of broken glass reflecting
only some fragments of myself
too light to carry that behind me
& the fact that we were born
back-to-back.
insomniac
a twin mattress
pinching a dream i thought was shared
since you seemed to fit & i
offered, underlining highlighting
not the meaning
of the words the
pallid world they held
but the precision of its start
its rushing toward a crooked end
Okay, Cupid
(Okay, see)
I didnt plan to come back
and move across the river
where Id look at all the city lights
wrestling in a blur
yet still discern
some single bulb
in some single room
as you &
yours
its single windows view
where Id look at all the stars
and moon
and i couldnt trust the maps
the constellation line
incisions cutting through
whatever truth
concealed
by some fire in your eye.
passenger
you gave me the last word
fed up with all the hunger
that never let me choose just one
let alone commit as I left alone
and told you I didnt see
the point & you
grisly silent you
didnt either or at least
you didnt tell me
so I put my shoes back on
and hitched a couple rides
to find as many as I could:
dirty swivels & metalcold
remainders I gave neither
food nor shelter only direction
for an emigration toward
your heart, as if I ever knew
the way, as if Id ever hold
your papers before blistering
away, somewhere on the coast.
Spring 2015
Spencer Dew
the virgin and the moth

1: after patient insistence and a brief run
but the color was off on the printing, the layers, such that the whites of the
beach and the beach ate away at the water.
local story of the virgin and the moth,
in multiple variants, some less sad
waxed paper napkins, the oblivion of strong drink, decay
February, defined by patience, by my waiting for her to bend to
as after a brief run. This altitude, she says, giddy, shaking to get
the lighter lit. Yes, for a final time, but I want you to say please.
like the egg of the Columbus story, but the feathers were here own embellishment
and prone to decay as it was left unglazed
the faint down along the sides of her face
2: the throat of a sparrow
according to the guidebook, the town was famous for the quality of its light
Here sanctified. Here buried. Here exhumed.
pastels of landscapes sold along the street, including scenes
of the street itself, with such pastels for sale
and beggars in blankets along the road that climbs to the gallery
a bronze marker for every bullet hole
People snap pictures of statues of saints and children, plaza to plaza, alleys in between, various meats grilled or roasted,
everything in public, she says, throwing a wine glass across the patio
In the third person, in the butter of dawn, as the guide keeps saying revolution,
and a food vendor works a bicycle bell, repeating the same inscrutable words
blanketed against the dust, the dry chill
a sound like newsprint under fingers
3: ruins of mayonnaise
She ran her fingers over her breast, watching herself in the mirror, first with the light on, then without. She focuses on a
patch of skin above her nipple, pinching it back, picking at it.
People on the street wore paper masks, celebrating
something with fires, more or less contained
emphatically intentional in their disregard, or
this town full of elote and mayonnaise, or, and finally:
disgusted with everything at this point, she says,
standing by the bed to unbuckle her shoe
Cigarettes coming to taste like coarse salt.
Cigarettes coming to taste like the folds of her, swollen.
Cigarettes coming to taste like onions, first roasted and then raw.
Cigarettes coming to taste like a plastic seal, some sanitary cover.
Cigarettes coming to act as masks, as shields.
with the back cover torn off, talking of architecture and
endless monuments, many with multiple names, such that
the Plaza of the People was also the Plaza of Peace
roofs held down with rocks, an elbow-shaped segment of piping
4: and had know somehow inside myself
A deaf mute, but still only in Spanish. The throat of a sparrow, taking a diagonal path across the crowd. As if speaking in
hieroglyphs, she says, studying the dark surface of the woodblock on the table rather than its bright prints pinned along
the wall.
blue tiles along the terrace, dark beer
and still in the flattened vowels
of bodies of water, far away
deplore, I absolutely deplore
an advertisement for a beach resort on the side, a color photograph, the printing off, layers of color knocked a bit off
center, a smiling face with the whites of the eyes smearing over the tan skin, the skin itself smearing over into the sky,
waves crashing beside themselves, an umbrella
Sometimes the simplest way to say the thing, she says, and then her thought drifted away.
a wall of crutches, tiny pressed metal representations of limbs
pinned against the velvet of certain saints shrines
filling another blue plastic water bottle with half-smoked cigarettes and tiny curls of yellow paper peeled from her
notepad
coming back hours later with a string of bus tickets back to the airport, all in my name.
Spring 2015
Sophia Pandeya
dear ear
dear humdrum
dear anagram of read
dear denizen, dear muddling middle dear ambiguity
dear dare, lapsing into quicks&apps
dear nearly departed, dear hash-tagged, dear postage
dear dearth dear death dear earth
dear absorption, dear din of libidinous amplitude
dear oscillating ossuary dear bone of content, ion, mention
dear listing labyrinth, minotaur of minutiae, dear done in by thousand cut-edit-paste
dear horror of horrors, dear drone, dear hour, dear *rouh
dear abbreviated, amp-mutated dear eerie
dear cut-off mid-riff, dear of beat off beat
dear de dear are dear re dear error
dear hastily assembled dear pastiche
dear archaic
dear accretion, acceleration, dear out & out
dear antonym of dead ant, dear luggage

dear dangling dear language, dear lengthening, dear lunge of age, dear fungal tongue
dear addy, dear add, dear undressed unrest dear hurl of tiny url
dear undone dear unending
dear _
*rouh: spirit
Spring 2015
Simon Perchik
Half jack, half when the ace

finds its way back
and the vague stomp
each time you deal a spade
--you teach the kids
dead ends and random turns
half cards, half burial grass
--you say take the risk
bet! and suddenly the black jack
will fall to your knees
and dragged out the deck
--you deal with those dead sparks
from the sun smothered by pennies
the way each night is born again
as laughter safe inside this table
hid by a milky thread
and your eyes not yet ready
for the light or if the next card
is the other end you leave behind.
You shave so the rain

can't stop --twice every day
as if the sky were twins
half shoreless, half too heavy
and these rotary blades
reaching take-off speed
--you climb the way this mirror
fills with water, becomes some boy
shaking a tree, expects your hair
will drop safely in the sink
though Norelco claims the motor
runs even in a shower
--what does it know about rain
or accuracy or for hours
the absent-minded way your face
presses almost too close
dimmer, dimmer into that turn
there all the time on your cheeks
kept beardless :a light held back
at the far end where the runway
wants one from the few left to it.
It's hopeless! every nail

exhausted, falls over
as if the treeline
--there's not enough air
though the hammer, half
relentless, half turning back
the way all rescue begins
just below the horizon
for leverage --Casey
the nail you lift up
can be used again
--a second try to hold together
the same sky, familiar now
--there's hope --darkness
is what you're learning
for when a warm breeze
bends down to cup your hands
around the evening star
you will soon wait for
till all that's left to breathe
is a love song, one after another
--you pull out this nail
as if it were a flower
maybe tomorrow, would become
your voice, already scented
and in your arms
a beautiful woman is listening.
You limp and her casket

breaking open, its splinters
lose hold and this dirt
is water again, each ripple
wider and wider drags ashore
though the pebble you tossed
covers the sea with a darkness
that spends its life drowning
--a tiny rock broken off
from your step by step holding on
forever --you walk on water, close
to the crater's rim half wood
half storm, half where her voice
could be mistaken for moonlight
for the one stone more who in the end
is dead and you lift it
gently, lower it to your lips
as if it was a whisper, or a mouth.
This envelope never dries, her name

tightening a faceless turn
that has the sky to itself
--she is still leaving, rising
thinning out while your hand
still damp holds on to a curtain
that is not a dress
and between your fingers
wasted words, wasted years
wasted you --what's left
is a room half walls
half emptiness, half cold mist
as if there's not enough light
to sweeten this note kept naked
covered with rivers and your arms.
Spring 2015
Shailee Perry
Butterfly
When I heard that Id be getting another teenager on my engine, I got pretty upset, my boss, BJ, says
over his shoulder. His hands remain on the wheel as he maneuvers the large fire truck down the abandoned
road. I agree with his statement; working with other teenagers is such a pain. Even though I fall into that age
group Ive never thought of myself as one of them. But thats not even the worst of it, when I found out that
youd be a girl... he gives an exaggerated shudder. Working with girls is a nightmare.
I school my features, plastering a smirk on my face to hide the offense Ive taken. Dealing with sexist
comments is a daily part of my job, what with the workforce being dominated by males. This type of job
entails fourteen hour shifts of arduous labor amidst smoke and flames. Only males are considered idiotic
enough to throw their lives into the wind like that. Others consider me insane for being a female teenager
who does wild land firefighting, but that fact has never stopped me before.
Seated on the passenger side, Cody sticks his finger into his tobacco can and scoops out some of the
black tar, and then shoves it into the inside of his cheek. It makes me squirm a bit. He probably hadnt
washed his hands with soap in days.
Were the same age, but Ive risen to a higher rank: Firefighter One. Its a higher certification than
him, plus higher pay, so technically Im his superior. Regardless of my status, my femininity and I remain in
the back seat and he gets dibs on shotgun. Its his first season out here and already hes the picture perfect
resemblance of a wild land firefighter; dirt streaked face, muddied boots, nonchalant attitude, and pack of
tobacco.
No offense, BJ concludes somewhat half-heartedly, his dark brown eyes glancing at me in the
rearview mirror.
No offense? I repeat, glancing around shocked. Teenaged girlwho, me? Oh, I thought you were
talking about Cody.
Cody snaps shut his tobacco and turns to glare at me pointedly. BJ busts up laughing.
.
The main task for an engine out on the fire line is to provide water. At this particular fire, our large
Dodge truck, weighed down by a three-hundred gallon water tank and pump, has no access route to the
flames. Instead we station at the top of a hill and set up a hose lay to the valley below. A hand crew of twenty
men has the fun task of hard labor, spraying water at raging flames and completely immersing themselves in
the exhilarating battle of man versus nature, while us engine slugs get to monitor the water and make sure it
doesnt run out.
Sitting around watching a tank slowly drain of water is what I consider to be potentially life
threatening. However, bored to death is an embarrassing way to go while fighting fires. After gaining
permission from my engine boss, I don my thirty-pound safety pack and hardhat, grab my pulaski, and
gleefully race down the sharp incline.
The valley at the bottom is a dream come true. Pockets of heat wrap around the roots of trees,
sending up plumes of smoke. Flames engulf a few stumps here and there. Hundreds of feet of hose wind its
way throughout the foliage, leading to each hot spot where one man sprays the high pressurized water while
groups of men hack at the earth to mix in cool soil to dampen the heat.
I join the group closest to me, where one man is futilely attempting to hack at a root with a shovel.
Eager to help, I step forward to proudly bear my pulaski, the type of tool specifically used for roots. I hadnt
done any work all day and chopping up thick wood sounds like the best thing ever. I motion for him to take a
step back.
The firefighter smirks at me, and instead of stepping aside, takes my tool away from me. I watch,
dumbfounded, as he proceeds to do my job for me, and then hands me back my tool.
It doesnt take long before I start holding my pulaski with a death grip. The third man who attempts
to steal my tool away from me gets a stubborn glare instead. I take his place and hack at the root with all of
my might, and once finished, its evident that Ive done a good job. From that point on, the other workers eye
me with a bit of respect and no longer take my tool from me.
.
BJ pulls the fire truck off to the side of the highway and parks behind our strike team leaders rented
car. We all hop out and suit up, putting on all of our personal protection equipment. We gather together
behind the truck, waiting for our supervisor to give us instructions. I examine our surroundings. Blackened
stumps rise from a wasteland of ash along the mountainside in front of us. A few trees still live, their trunks
turned to charcoal twenty feet high, their naked branches swaying in the breeze.
A huge monolith of a tree, once standing as a king above the others, lays on its side. Its obvious that
sawing up this tree will be our mission. Flames lick along the trunk, and its been drawing attention of
civilians on the highway. For days now conscientious drivers have called in several times to report the live
fire. To us its apparent that the tree poses no threat. Its far from any fuel, completely surrounded by a
blanket of ash, and will eventually burn itself out. but we firefighters love a challenge; I itch at the chance to
saw into a flaming tree. With my certifications for wielding a chainsaw and experience with sawing down
several trees, today looks like my lucky day.
Our strike team leader walks up to the three of us. He confirms our suspicions, stating that we will
indeed be sawing up the tree. BJ grins in excitement as Cody spits out a wad of tobacco, his eyes narrowing
as he glances at the flames. I know that he wont be able to actually hold the sawhe hadnt gone through
sawyer certifications yet. I start bouncing on my toes, wanting to grab the saw and race toward the tree like a
madwoman.
One of you is going to have to stay here, our supervisor says, rubbing the side of his Roman-shaped
nose. Your truck will be blocking off part of the highway, and we need someone to mitigate traffic.
Ice settles in my stomach. I should have seen this coming, but even so, when all three men stare
pointedly at me I cant help but to feel disappointed. Swallowing down my indignation, I offer them a shy
smile and volunteer. Our leader nods, relieved that Id come to that conclusion on my own. He points to
where I need to go.
As I walk down the highway I shift my pack higher on my back and feel it tug on my hair. I pull my
long blonde hair out from beneath the straps and flick my ponytail over my shoulder. I know my place out
here. Ladies have certain roles to fillno spitting, no sitting with their legs open, they should always be
clean and never find it exhilarating to find out just how dirty one can get while digging through ash all day.
These men have to keep their little lady safe, it wouldnt look good if she were the one to saw into a trunk
that spouts flames. It might undermine their masculinity.
I take my position, one boot on the hot pavement, the other straddling the narrow shoulder of the
road. Dark pebbles shift beneath my heel. My fingers twitch from inaction, but I resolutely set my jaw and
stare into the distance for approaching vehicles.
My attention gets drawn by a butterfly that crosses my line of sight. This is no place for such a
delicate creature, I instinctively think. Yet here it is. I watch it settle, landing on the bright yellow strip in the
center of the road. The thin fibers of its wings kiss together before opening once more, combating against the
breeze.
The buffeting of the wind increases, but the butterfly holds its ground. Leaves sashay and twirl
through the air to my right. They crash into the sharp incline of the mountain. This side of the highway is
completely different from where my coworkers are sawing away; the fire hadnt been able to cross the wide
pavement. Vibrant bushes and trees scour the mountain side; dark green pine needles decorate the forest
floor, pinned in place by thick underbrush.
The butterfly takes flight. I imagine that it will go to the right, where life thrives, where its petite size
and vibrant colors belong. It dances back and forth in the wind, and then, to my surprise, flies against the
wind. It moves across the left side of the highway and hovers over the ash. Like a moth to flame it heads
toward the fire.
BJ just finished with the cuts on the first three-foot section of the trunk. With the help of Cody the
two of them roll the hunk of wood to the side and air rushes into the hollow husk. The oxygen flares up the
fire. Whoops of glee fill the air as the two men jump back from the ravenous flames. The butterfly pirouettes
in the air, watching the action. A triumphant smile creases my lips; the butterfly might be better suited for
the mountainside to the right, but the force of the wind will never keep it back from its hearts desire.
Spring 2015
Scott Penney
A Dollar General Will Arrive in Bradford Soon

In the Dollar Store they will build, the knock-off GI Joes
Have deformed faces die-stamped on the clay in China
Their arms move too awkwardly in their sockets for use
Their combat uniforms are melted to the skin they wear
Their stubby fingers cannot locate the trigger or barrel
of the rifle, all their heads are smothered in cellophane,
the service firearm at their hip is glued beside them,
like mittens sewed to sleeves of hooded winter coats
The combs you buy for a dollar cannot be run
Through the blonde hair daubed upon the soft skulls
The GI Joe knock-offs you can buy at the Dollar Store
Are shipped in a single piece except for the arms
That can be broken off at will, except for the head
Without expression that can be pried off, unscrewed
From the rest of the body of vulcanized rubber or latex
Also the Dollar Store sells videos of fishermen
Advertised as broadcast on a major TV network
Although at three in the morning never on prime-time
And although the fishermen cast their lines in a stream
Out west in Wyoming or somewhere (the sun is out)
and the rapids agitate to a foam that flashes
with all the intensity of a blinding heat blast

as if your TV connections were completely fried
They never catch a fish on the pirated DVD transfer
and once unsealed the disc cannot be returned
The sleeveless and muscular arms gripping the fly-rods
fail them the fishermen are just a bad dream
And then another item you can get in the store
are these porcelain and enameled creations
Of pink mdchen who crane from flower-bells
The excitement of Hummel figurines in their grins
And blazing in their long sequestered dusty eyes
beside the piles of clay pots and pocket calculators.
On (or The Anvil Song)

You hear his hand slide down the guitar neck as Julian Bream plays a fugue,
and you can see and hear the machinations of the stage,
hear the turning of the music sheets readjustment of the stands
and the positioning of the viols between the knees
and after witness the lowering of the lights.
You see and hear the black mike booms locked in place
the manual repositioning of snake-like wiring on the stage floor,
see the raising of the painted sets on the desert film-lot
hear the hammer and the saw behind the facade.
You see the painted desert but not the paint-by-numbers
see the stencils on the canvas-backed chairs and equipment lockers
and the wardrobes suddenly cast onto the floor.
You hear commands to raise the boom or put the lights out
you see the painted scenery and hear the grunt of a pianist
which in proportion to the harmony of the piece is atonal
you see the constellations and the scaffolding
the printing of luminescent images of morning hung on the passenger bus
and the gears behind the facade of the clock hanging over City Hall
as the moon hung over the trees and the sun in the west hung over the hill
you can hear the hand creak as the web between thumb and forefinger
rubs the neck of the guitar as the fugue is plucked
You hear the foot loudly as the pedal and the string hit by the velvet plectrum.
You see the plywood sets raised on the edge of the desert,
the highway behind the Roman slave revolt
hear the engines of the junked cars in the deserts idle as clearly
as the operations it takes to make the constellations appear on a clear night.
You see the day set raised and the set for night wheeled down
As final as the hand that turns the Open sign to Closed or Occupied to Vacant.
You see the flash of the gears behind the clock-face
and the idling of the engine in the desert.
You hear the intangible become as palpable as a navel orange,
an acorns ridges or a beer-can crushed and tossed in a cow-pond.
********
Hear the clink of the anvil over the Atwater-Kent and the steam of bean sprouts
and the thousand-strong sound of mites chewing into ears of corn
or Chinese cabbage in the kitchen-garden, or the unctuous squish of red slugs
as they consume the translucently pale green leaves of lettuce
into skeletal remains, like denuded boundaries of lights on amusement rides.
The kitchen garden seethes with broken tares and blonde wings and black eggs.
When you close your eyes you envisage worms orbiting pebbles in clods of earth
and you falsely suspect the order of things beneath to be concentric.
The opera music between the clinks of the anvil could lull you to sleep.
Could there be many anvils hit by hammers or is there only one hammer.
And you know that after the breaking of hammers, only the anvil remains.
Blurred
While reading Jude my glasses blurred.
And when I shut the lights I saw the Milky Way.
Space, all scattered with pinpricks, wasnt black yet.
And when I closed my eyes, a storm erupted on the sun.
Without the light on earth, you could see by stars alone
Only it would be cold, and without light, sod go the heat.
Wed have to burn the woods much faster to get warm.
Judes situation in the book was only getting worse.
I wondered whether Hardy just moved his characters
Around like puppets by which children play out dead-mens scenes.
Yes, things could get bad, but is it usually so bad?
That late at night there wasnt light enough to read,
Half the world darker, but the other half bright,
As a water glass is either half empty, half full.
People rose bright and shiny, as others settled down,
A wave of people rose to the dawn or lied down to rest.
The harvesters churned in the field, and a tower blinked.
Night after night, I wondered how flawed my vision was.
Could I learn Braille, learn to read the world by touch?
As pages blurred, lights were going out for Jude and me.
It might be said, with Gnostics, bright skies lie behind the dark-why Heavens Gate boarded their Hale-Bopp comet-space-ship,
Leaving their baggage behind, their orcheotomies half-healed,
Their life-paths terminated in some heiress-donated bungalow,
Among the clean sheets, eyes in ascetically cropped and tilted heads
still glazed and serene.
Spring
Ducts moved air from beneath or moved air from above,
or from the sides of buildings, or from beneath the awnings.
Rail-cars roared beneath the buildings, stopped and roared again.
The awnings of the shops bellied with wind as if they were sails,
and the banners that drooped from the sides of the buildings
were floodlit and also bellied from the winds underneath them.
And the winds were compressed to an even greater pressure
by the narrowness of the mazes through which they passed
on their way to the sea -- or were they coming from the open sea?
Were the ducts pushing air underground, or from the ground?
And in which directions were the banners bellying with wind?
How was the traffic? Traffic roared later that evening.
The winds from the air-ducts roared along with the traffic.
The underground was made of money, the cost of location
passed to the customer. The gold necklace on the velvet collar
is from the underground too. The maze between the buildings
straightens until the wind gains greater pressure, and howls.
Spring 2015
S. M. Hutton
freestyle swimming
reach pull flutter
reach pull flutter
reach pull flutter
reach pull flutter
reach pull flutter
reach pull flutter
reach pull flutter
reach pull flutter
reach pull flutter
reachpullflutter
pullflutterbeat
reach beat flutter
reach pull flutter
reach pullbeatfall
reach.pull.flutter.
pull flutterreachpullflutter
Reach
come back daddy

great lakes shoreline
small child fingers
sunshine fervent
small child thinking
sand warms bottom
small child feeling
box lunch waiting
his strokes ceaseless
not quite nearness
parallel shoreline
beyond not away
child sits waiting
coextensive
Child keeps vigil
reach pull flutter

reach pull flutter
reach pull flutter
reach pull flutter
reach pull flutter
reach pull flutter
reach pull flutter
reach pull flutter
reach pull flutter
reach pull flutter reach
reach pull flutter
beat. beat flutter
heart beat flutter
beat, beat. flutter
reach
Come back Dad. Now!
Spring 2015
Roger Craik
BLACKBERRY ET AL
Dark screen. The tiny
red light winking.
Mornings
ritual compulsion.
A bell clangs nine.
In the tail of my eye,
against the slanting window theres a
peering agitatedness, and its
one of those great big bumblebees, sunbristling and
dammit its inside and
suddenly everywhere at once immediately
boring its vibrating resonance
along the humming corridors of air and
the room amazingly itself is
greatening to the zooming frictionless
compressionpast-close my cheek and
gone.
Meanwhile, on the shelf
of wedged encyclopedias Britannica,
hells black tablet flashes on and on.
LAMY SAFARI
The navy blue, the thick
nib, the black
ring between the
navy blue segments of it, the
stylish, trim,
black loop.
HEARD IN A RESTAURANT
Love and marriage, love and marriage,
go together like a horse and carriage.
Of course. Just ask the horse.
Spring 2015
Robert Wexelblatt
COMMUTERS
To his/her career each has a right
but consider this young couples plight.
She professes math in Milwaukee
while in Boston he does chemistry.
They divide the distance mileage-wise
and in Buffalo they synthesize.
Though with tough ionic bonds theyre paired,
their problems equal their distance, squared.
SUKIS VERNISSAGE
Who came to her show?
Just those in the know:
two cognoscenti
and hipsters aplenty.
Not far from their teens
in skinny jet jeans
her claque was quite funny.
Too bad none had money.
FRAN AND REGS DIVORCE

First intrigued next bewitched,
then enthralled, now unhitched.
Blame this gloomy conclusion
On the newlyweds delusion:
What? Stay the same? Reg wouldnt.
Fran change? Oh no! She couldnt.
TARDIF MONSIEUR BLOIS

Monsieur Blois comes late to class,
as late as any French waiter.
His students do not cry Hlas!
Non! Most wish that he were later.
ONE SIXTY-FIVE OVER ONE HUNDRED ONE

Well, as you age blood pressure tends to rise,
soothed Dr. B. To please him, I feigned surprise
and let him think this fact was news to me
though, in these matters of mortality,
with age you reach the obvious surmise.
Oh, you resist it; you downright deny,
but in your heart know numbers never lie.
MATURE DECREPITUDE
A bundle of habits and nothing more
Is that all the future has in store?
Doing the same things worse every day?
Or is there some richness in decay?
Wasnt Schiller quickened by rotting apples?
(Writ with this hand an age spot dapples.)
Spring 2015
Robert Sheppard
The Ern Malley Suite
he was born in England at Liverpool
Ethel Malley
her hand holds her
letter
above the estuary
the slash of the horizon
sailing yawls
catch the breeze beneath
ecliptic clouds
his hand drips
blood
hoists a fetish
a pepper pot guffaw
snuffles
across flat waters
~
the elephant
stands four square
on the family sedan
levitating
full steam ahead

towards the warehouse
which is fed like a silo
but which fills
with levity
~
erect a statue in heaven as though
god needs another effigy
a Prometheus to lay eggs on his own plinth
as mere man back-flips above
the pools of England
to land on his feet like a real man
with doubly stolen fire in his prosthetic voice
~
her lantern-head and pinafore
announce her sullen
reappearance
on the path to the dunes
her Chinese wheels and chocolate box
ribbons steal the way to the dairy
his face moulded from mud
stirs to shake itself free
of dirt
but he brushes himself away
for good
~
jug too polished to grip
except to pinch the void

looped by its tiny handle
tilt it
full of cream
a thick ribbon
cascades into woodland
bucolic cadence
trills from a darkening branch tip
a malic mould singing
~
hes fallen behind the sofa
to find it alpine crag
crystal crests above sting his eyes
he hauls himself to his knees
to watch the grandfather clock
spelling out Swiss time
in stuttered Cantonese
~
plump stools complement the garish table
iron sea monsters forged menace his toes
and a toilet pedestal for his stools
centres the ornamented chamber
mythological capers plaster the ceiling
sinewy wrestling and grunting
welcome to a shit under golden eagles
like his granddad in the Philharmonic
~
if a placid king penguin

were to waddle here
nudging its egg between
its webs
hands hennaed with Hindu geometries
might punch through the glass domes
of geological clocks
to offer it
a continent of drift
~
clouds printed on his nape
his broad back rises as cloud
shoulders a volcanic island
erupting into fictional cartography
as fresh as the isle of Frisland
its cities of Ocibar and Godmec
his panama tilts into a sun disk
or twitters for a lark
Spectres of Breath
Side A
Wispy digital noodling with woozy laptronica lines over clipped guitar riffs
humming bowls prepared piano Noise quotes
Post-punk guitar-scuzz amid a wash of tone fluctuation psych-garage munge
with sountracky form-sloth jiggers over vocaleering dream lounge flair
Serpentine drones with rough camel skin gauze filtered through punchy kook
oriented space-electronic phrases low-bore gush & drool segueing to raw hypnagogic handclaps
A live jack lead plugged into a bass valve amp crackles while yacht rock tropes think
through ring-modulated nasal sustain
Torch songs with Morricone twangs dubbed out by reggae-funk lite for clubfooted clomping along to burps blips dips & clanks
Washed-out melancholia with junkyard jams alternating with palm-muted bleeps &
trickles plangent bird calls & fluttering wings
Side B
Smell the pixels on these ice-cracking fire-spitting loops re-mixing bathysphere pings
amid scorched-earth saxes played by improv avant allstars
Effete acoustic jangle against lacquered finish with FX & channel bravado opens
polished black space for scrying to glimmer until cycling chords crescendo & ring silence
Styluses scraped against spinning bodies an entire spectrum of partials grounded by
synth-puffs & granular pitches
Spectres of breath in arrangements layered up from scratch glossolalia elbowed by
tonal clusters vocal sighs & automobile-shudder basslines
Bitcrunched microtones and pitchbending grinds sunk in a seedbed of screaming
A pop savvy barrage of dense keyboard doodles clenched multiphonics on bassoon
motoric minimalism of ghostly warbling organ clusters bone-rattling brittleness in the voice so
convivial you can taste the retro crazed latency that gives it human tape hiss
(for Philip Jeck at 60)
Spring 2015
Robert Lietz
OLD LINE BARBECUE

Here's context then, and, here, these eight degrees
across Ohio, a weekend of snow ahead,
and these poems I'm looking for, these photographs
I mean to find along the route,
however the market's acting up, a sell-off's tempering
corrections, as if a course, I think,
on a prodigious instrument, with recoveries forecast,
a predicate light, let's say, let pique,
as prayerfulness and preparation, in changes already
evident, on the Rorschach ponds
still sound enough to glide on, in an administration,
charged, promoting a civility
a party on the outs can find no mind for, salaried
by constituents
to work about as little as they're able, and
slathering the slabs,
passing the wipes, or stoking
an old line
barbecue.
WHAT SUMMER MEANT

1
A kitchen scented with chops, chopped greens,
becomes a reference for seasons,
for the events revealed, subject still to influence,
which you'll declare, if asked, to say
where this might light, or to announce the time
of their returning, so
we could wait there comfortably, assuming an ease
with the fizzed drinks, the instructions
meant to check or temper the least impulse, such
as the dreams had been,
of catapults, of the views from the high rails, down
to the Pollacked drive below
and back to her expressions at the screen door,
to hear all the words you knew
as that brush pin-wheeled toward impact, whatever
the summer meant, with
every adventure sabotaged, walking the railings
painting eaves,
transformed by her amusement, with no regard for
time, for the spoiled jokes, or
the jokes we missed in unrepeatable successions,
even as stars joined in,
drawn -- in cahoots, we might have said -- from
some under-populated
and unpropitious galaxies, not even the least,
I think, moved by her inviting,
turning, as no hostess would, from her screen door,
having caught your eye
and confused what you should feel, traipsing
the whole way down,
while she, not even the least bit curious,
returned to her programs,
recipes, and to her own fears then,
for her children,
government.
2
Here's what this comes to, what it looks like
now, whatever the impact
might have been, the pleasures under-done
if nonetheless surprising, that
this storyline endures, some once compelled
by stakes or by upheavals,
some once reprised, since we'll be getting back
to that, when
the purchased revelry, or the dessert, in silence
shared, and since revalued,
sets the tone and steps and angles of behavior,
the disburdened light
we followed into niches, where the oldest snow
survived, no matter what the season
or the modes of light, packed light for traveling.
Who needs this anyway,
the shoulder or sling bag, stuffed with favors
you've included,
bringing yourself so far, from the first checked
square, to the reviews, sequels,
and the need for explanation, into the nights
around, secured and set and scaled,
attending the works installed, intended
to float, like some
kid's skiff, swallowed by surviving,
prescience, by
the whispering, ahead, of
seasons,
or of deluge.
KNOWING THE COSTS

What's there to tell, or to sense from photographs,
except for the hues
and humors breaking through, the performance nuns
had always been expecting,
beheld and recognized, preserved in the documents
of our undoing, as they saw it,
and arranged just so, to concur with preparations. So
difficult, I think, to calculate the speed,
torque, the positions we were to occupy forever, this
obliging say, and viable discipline,
establishing traction, if you will, re-framing the formulae
we thought would make more sense
to partners, even less inclined, and keeping ourselves
on task by prompts
or acts of our composing, by this little stillness, without
a name or need for it, as
the afternoon gets on, when you are yourself alone
and swearing off the property,
pleased by the day's bright regimen, and it's Syracuse
maybe, or, more likely, Cincinnati,
persuading by perspective, your great-grandfather's
sprawling dead, and your parents,
unmarried yet, are not yet out of high school,

not conscripted yet
to family shops or temperament, knowing
the costs for two
and two in love, with that to
work through.
ONLY THE SEEDS

Only the seeds, you think,
and enter them all
on that charged tablet, a man
your age
stopped dead, the work
of a summer day
proposed as explanation, all
you had thought
discredited, even the change
of clothes
and the beverage poured
where he's discovered,
as the hours advance, and
the moon, on
other errands even then, ducks
in and out of vision,
over a smeared topography,
over these two,
adapting themselves to serve
the many ends
of schooling, perfecting
themselves,
in the months and years
ahead,
to leave you
orphaned.
Spring 2015
Rich Murphy
The Entanglements of Ropes
By poet W. Scott Howard and artist Ginger Knowlton
Poet W. Scott Howard and artist Ginger Knowlton collaborate to bring together lines of poetry and drawn line
to make ropes in their chapbook, Ropes, published by Delete Ebook (number 3). Ropes gathers works from
Howard and Knowlton that previously appeared in Diagram Ekleksographia word for /word broadside with
image ditions Moir.
We have lyricists and song writers collaborating. Seldom do we have artist and poet collaborating, truly. Even
Claude Debussys treatment of Stphane Mallarms Laprs-Midi dun Faune was interpretation, not a joint
venture. In the book Ropes, we do. In a time when the arts and humanities have been devalued, these artists join
forces to make tangent threads of connotations tangle, knot, intertwine, braid, or loop into ropes strong enough
to hold the line taut or with slack. I imagine a rope tied to a bell for keeping time.
Ropes isnt your typical illustration for a book of poems. With the drawn lines that become shaded and
sometimes shaded in color the book contains a conversation between two artists that bring the reader back to the
importance of lines in humanity, whether as a deliberate reflection of vines, grasses, and hair or as desperate
invention that seeks to communicate. The book communicates reminding musers of the power in a line.
Both artists play with connotation and shadow, symbols and color until the drawn lines hold the words together
and the words hold the drawn lines together. The book begins with three pages of drawings or perhaps
sketches is a better word. While some of them are recognizable, tendril with blossoms along it and a woman
with ribbons in her hair, others are not. Fragments or outlines of sticks, blossoms, or particles join the tendril
and a heavy sensual shadowing and line broken with right angles foreshadow the book on the first pages.
The collaboration encourages the viewer to muse (and not to read only) on The Tangent Mind, In Loops,
Braided So, and At Work; with their use of line (black and blue) and shadow (except for the poem Where
Shadows) one is left with For Everyone. This poem recognizes the particularity of each person sitting and
perhaps focused on the page wherever that person is.
The poetry will remind the reader of Apollinaires calligrammes. However, other threads seem to run through
the poems. One thread seems be to a homage to W. C. Williams attempts at the particular, and the second
would be Gilles Deleuzes idea of singularity and emergence. Bergsons lan vital seems to appear in these
pages in Howards focus of experience. Page four (I had to count; the book wants to be fluid) includes a tendril
with blossoms and a grey butterfly to the left of a poem titled After. The poem calls the readers attention to
the evanescence in the embrace that is an imagined signature or naming of the particular. The book closes with
a poem titled Before, calling humans whatnot lovers, who, using our imaginations to scatter silence in our
naming, leave only silence darkening here, the symbols for universal experience, conciliations. The sketches
and shadows in blue rectangles, one stretching to include an apparently naked woman embracing herself lying
down, echo the poem or the poem echoes the sketches.
The poems simple inclusion of all musers is needed, a reward for the entanglements and various dangling that
the collaboration asks of its environmentalist audience viewing the work. The poem tips a hat to the reader. The
bookend poems are curious pieces that suggest we come to the poems and drawings for what holds us together.
Everything else is individual experience. With care (or not until one looks through the magnifying glass that is
this collaboration) does one see the threads and fibers that make up the lines that bind into Ropes.
Spring 2015
Raymond Farr
The Point of Writing Poetry
Is to go undefeated!
The point of writing poetry
Is to make a strange city sit up & eat feathers dripping from yr mouth
Is dope words
Is no one writes like they sculpt eyes
Is to change one word & become happy
Is to get to know & to love that surreal broccoli San Francisco
Is to avoid going mental in K-Mart
Is a symptom of mediocrity when mediocrity is the cure
Is to kill & eat all the bison in America!

Is the point you make when you steal an apple
Is What else are you going to do today?
Is to wreck whatever came before it
Is the answer to all yr questions about love & dirty dishes
Is the open door of yr life slamming shut
Is so you will have something to read that isnt half bad
Is nothing short of baffling sometimes
Is always better, darker, more bloody in French
Is one line & then another
A Poem Is
A combination of things
A poem is
Fly away, bird!
A poem is
$12.95
A poem is
A noun
A poem is
Not without its charms
A poem is
Incapable of feeling
A poem is
24/7
A poem is
More than what happens
A poem is
The 5 oclock shadow of the poet as he walks thru the door
A poem is
The real meaning of not knowing with certainty what the meaning is
A poem is
Not always good

A poem is
Rock candy
A poem is
About how one day a woman will be president
A poem is
A very big clam
A poem is
Some impossible dream dripping from our lips
A poem is
Awash in French Symbolist absinthe
A poem is
A very clever disguise
A poem is
A made thing but not a chair
A poem is
The beginning of a new way of interpreting reality
A poem is
What the dog ate
A poem is
A man all riled up after pulling taffy
A poem is
Tranquilizing
A poem is
Losing ground to the people who make Nyquil
A poem is
Of no use when fired upon
A poem is
Just enough
A poem is
Not God
A poem is
Quiet in the library
A poem is
This! This is a poem!
A poem is
Living a lie & cant see that
A poem is
23 kbs
A poem is
More than we understand
If You Listen, Really Listen to a Poem

It tells you yr fortune
If you listen, really listen to a poem
Harvey the Rabbit bolts the door shut & snow the color of peaches appears in yr notebook
Yr teeth are a choir, a choo-choo train hailing out of Boulder, CO
It becomes obvioustheres nothing you can do!
You are talking to the street
Sleep has no face but a piano does
The x-ray of yr brain is a bucket of fear
Somehow you find that big enormous thing
Yr eyes flutter like cow bells they clang!
The mice are corrupt teachers!
You enter a room filling with strangers

You dont know what you will say
A private thought takes the shape of yr breathing
All of yr questions will answer themselves
There are not enough ears to really listen to a poem
Light has a difficult time breaking yr heart
Yr last stanza is a beautiful lemonade
She Calls Herself the Ghost of Romance in the Age of

Ambiguous Strategies for Romance Because
There are sounds coming from nowhere
She calls herself the ghost of romance in the age of ambiguous strategies for romance because
There are shadows in a window
She read Death in Venice once in a single joyless weekend
Shes lost herself again in the coma of her own suffering
The lurid dead end fragments of signals pinging off cell phone towers remain unanswered
In the old houses of her music shes silent at the piano
In the streets of this citys uphill wobbles she walks in beauty
She doesnt know if somebody needs her or if it is just one of those details that fill her with attentiveness
Spring 2015
Philip Bowne
Lake Luzern
We hadn't seen each other in ten months.
The last time we spoke, about a week before I left, she promised a year's worth of kisses when I
arrived. I was on the way into Luzern to meet her sitting on the train with my travelling bag crammed
between my knees. I pictured her hopping about with excitement and a pocketful of Chocolat Villars, just
waiting for me to step onto the platform.
I was stuck living in Bristol, plodding through my final year of study, and she was in Luzern, working
at a recycling factory just outside of Zurich. She was responsible for picking plastic, metal and paper,
separating it all saving the world.
Recycling one tin can produces enough energy to listen to a whole album, she said, out on the shore
of Lake Luzern, one evening last summer. Think of how many tin cans one person uses a year. If everyone
recycled their cans, think how much we would reduce the carbon footprint. Eva believed the solution to all
the world's problems could be found in tin cans and compost heaps.
I wanted to spend the summer talking about how much our sex had improved, or tell her the story
about my lecturer who dropped dead at the photocopier. But it never happened. It was all electric bicycles
and offshore wind farms; reduce, reuse, recycle.
I know how to significantly reduce the carbon footprint, I said, stretching an arm around her square
shoulders, leaning in until our noses touched. Carbon tip-toe.
She pushed me off.
You're an idiot, JJ.
Despite that, Eva wanted to travel around Europe with me, see it all. Leave from Luzern in June, and
whip down through Italy and the Amalfi coast, across to Croatia and sail along the Dalmatian, to travel a
loop around Europe.
But when the carriage doors opened, no Eva.
I sent an e-mail, she said on the phone.
What e-mail? I said, outside the train station in Luzern, bagged down with my new rucksack pots
and pans jangling from the back. I looked like a one-man band.
It's been 10 months, Jonny. I feel like I've been in a relationship with my iPhone. We knew the
distance would be difficult.
A conveyor belt rumbled. I could picture her still leafing through the rubbish as she jammed the
phone between her ear and shoulder.
You could have fucking mentioned it, Eva, I said. Maybe before I bought a month-long train
ticket.
She didn't say anything.
And you've bought your ticket, too.
I didn't buy a ticket, Jonny. It says it all in the e-mail.
I could hear the sound of tin cans crumpling beneath the weight of an industrial crusher.
I'm sorry, she continued, shouting over the machinery. Check your inbox. Maybe the e-mail was
accidentally directed to your spam.
Tin cans crushed and baled.
Can I stay the night? Seeing as I'm here.
She had already hung up.
#
I was crying. I walked along the waterside and watched the water slop against the concrete shore of Lake
Luzern. Mount Pilatus towered over the city from the distance, collecting the only clouds in the clear sky
around its summit. Sailboats bobbed out in the open water, their mainsails reaching up into a point from the
boom. From a distance, they looked like fins of giant sharks lurking below the surface. There were other
boats too, some tied in at the lakeside, and one rowing boat, Julia, letters fading on the starboard. She was
rotten through to her hull.
I found a pub on the waterfront, just along from the rowing boats. The sign was green and white
The Shamrock. I walked in and heads turned to inspect me. The Undertones blared out from a plastic jukebox
in the far corner; Teenage Kicks. Four leaf clovers plastered the brown walls, muscling for attention over the
white, green and orange flags. You could travel the world over and still wind up in an Irish bar.
The locals stared. I was the tourist, eyes glazed with tears. They were all sitting on stools around the
bar, ladies swirling red wine in bowl-sized glasses, men with Guinness.
A fat man pulled out an empty stool for me. I threw my rucksack down and took a seat next to him.
Shirt sleeves rolled up, his forearms boasted a healthy splattering of mud.
Christoph, he said, stretching out a large, worn hand. As he spoke I watched his chin move. It was
dotted with prickly hairs, like a raspberry.
John.
He had the sort of handshake that made everything seem fine. Christoph nodded to the barman and
a Guinness appeared. It didn't appear there was a choice.
What brings you to Luzern, John? A half-crescent of froth lined his top lip. The foam gushed to the
bottom of my pint in an avalanche, settled, turned black.
I glugged down half of it and placed the glass back down on the bar.
My girlfriend. I came here to meet her, to travel for the month. I sunk the remainder of my drink.
Oh, super! And she is coming? Christoph swiped the cream from his upper lip.
She doesn't want to see me. I could feel the foam bubbling up at the back of my throat.
So you don't travel?
She changed her mind. I'll go back to England tomorrow.
The barman placed a full pint at my fingertips.
You can go alone, no? Christoph patted me hard on the back with his big hand.
It's a bad start, getting dumped on day one.
Christoph said, Then it can only be better, laughing from his belly. His gut was pregnant; swollen
into a perfect globe. I could imagine peeling up his shirt and finding it decorated with a map of the world.
Why go home now?
#
I spent the evening at the pub with Christoph and his wife, Diana. They told me about their farm,
high on the hillside on the way out to Pilatus, about how their children all left Luzern, about their cows and
sheep. We played darts and Christoph spoke of his passion for Guinness.
I could have it with my breakfast cereal, he said. If she would let me. He nudged Diana. She was
markedly slim in comparison to her husband, but didn't seem to mind his figure. Long blonde hair fell over
her shoulder, fading grey, but she was still young in the face. In her day, she was probably the most beautiful
girl in the town.
The bell jangled for last orders.
Come and stay, Christoph said, placing his hand on my arm. Help me on the farm tomorrow. Stay
as long as you like. Share our bread.
I would, I said, But I've booked the night at a hotel. I hadn't.
Oh. Christoph's face dropped.
Tomorrow? Diana said. She didn't say much.
Christoph cheered. Yes! I'll meet you here, at eight thirty.
In the morning? I asked.
Of course in the morning, Christoph said.
I worried what they wanted me for.
#
I left The Shamrock and walked out along the docks. Caught between the mountains and the city, I stopped. I
don't know why I didn't go with Christoph that evening. Part of me was scared that he would persuade me to
travel alone. I stood by the lakeside, looking at the view I'd shared with Eva the summer before. The moon
was full; a silver medal suspended in the sky, beyond the reach of even Pilatus and Rigi. I looked out, head
spinning and eyelids fleshy, heavy, wanting to close. The street lights cast long flames on the surface water,
and the white gable houses lit up the waterside like a furnace.
The rowing boat, Julia, was still tied up to a horn cleat. It could have been there for years, untouched.
Parts of the rib had cracked away, and rust had grown thick over the rowlocks. Chucking my bag in first, I
made camp for the night on the bottom boards.
I laid down on my back. I could hear fish making knife-breaks in the cool water, in lullaby. If Eva was
there she would have pressed her icy fingertips into my armpit for warmth. I wasn't cold. The sun had only
been down a few hours.
Beyond the bare mast of the boat, the distant silhouette of Mount. Pilatus kissed the stars in the
blackness.
#
I woke up with wet feet. I didn't realise there was a long, thin crack in one of the bottom boards, allowing
water to dribble into the hull. I got out and sat down at the waterside, watching the sun climb to the summit
of Rigi. The outline of the mountains glowed like gold veins pumping through the skyline.
Christoph came early. I was thankful. I needed a meal and shower. He drove us up to his farm, half an
hour south from the city near to Alpnach, at the foot of Pilatus. The car rumbled through the hillside. Swiss
pines lined the roadside in regiment, upright, like soldiers.
You look tired, John, Christoph said. Did you party all night?
Hotel wasn't much good, I said. Damp.
You can sleep for an hour. But my cow, she will give birth this afternoon. I want you to be there.
I'd never seen anything give birth before.
#
We arrived after half an hour. Their house, a chalet with a gabled roof and wide eaves, looked out over the
lake. Christoph ran out to check on his heifer.
Diana showed me to their spare bedroom. She was wearing a mucky jumper, a cream knit with
chocolate icing smeared on her breast. As I showered I could smell cakes baking. When I went back into the
bedroom, Diana was cranking the Venetian blinds, locking out all light. I laid down on the bed, and fell
asleep within minutes.
#
An hour later, I woke up with Christoph shaking me.
It's time, he said. She's almost ready.
I had no idea what he was talking about.
Come on. You can't miss it. He handed me a small plate with a thick slice of double-layered
chocolate cake, and a glass of milk. I'll be in the barn.
I stuffed the cake into my mouth, swilling the chocolate pieces around with the creamy milk. I walked
through a corridor lined with old family photos. Christoph hadn't always been so fat. One picture showed
him and Diana with their two boys out by the lake. Christoph's shoulders were twice as broad as his hips, his
stomach flat, legs thick and brown and barbed with hair. He stood proud in swim briefs. Diana was covered
up; hat, sunglasses, skirt and blouse.
I went out to the barn. The cow was sectioned off in a pen, standing up, but covered in mud and dust
and straw. Two hooves were emerging from her vagina, and a thick string of mucus dangled from her vulva.
I'd never seen a cow's vagina. It bagged up, crinkled; ready to shit out a new life. It was one of the
most hideous things I've ever seen.
Isn't it beautiful? Christoph whispered.
I smiled.
You might have to help me ease her out, Christoph said, examining her backside. If she struggles,
we pull the calf from the hooves.
I can't do that, I said. I didnt think I was scared of animals. But there's something alien about
livestock you only ever see them on TV or in children's books or in your dinner.
Sure you can, he said. You can't be so negative, John. She will know.
The cow mooed, mocking my city-boy insecurities.
So what do we do now? I asked.
We wait for her. She won't be long. Christoph moved to the corner of the barn and showed me a
large black tub full of what looked like rotten grass. This is silage. A cow's dinner. How does it smell, to
you?
Rural, I said, and took a seat on a small wooden stool, behind the cow. Christoph laughed, and
joined me.
A few years ago, we had a terrible time with the cows, he said. Everything was normal, the calves
were coming strong, we were doing so well. I was even going to build a a second barn. But one day they just
started disappearing. One here, one there. We didn't know what was going on.
I picked up some straw, ripped it up, sprinkled it to the floor.
I searched for hours, Diana too. We lost ten in one week. We thought someone was stealing them.
Who was it?
The cow shuffled her hind legs, grunting.
It wasn't anyone, he said. They were committing suicide.
I laughed. The cow's ears flopped down over her head. There was something deliberate about her
posture. Her front legs were slightly cocked, like the hands of a magazine model posing nude.
I'm not joking. They were jumping off the cliff, just down from here. I didn't understand. I found
them finally, as I walked along the cliff's edge. I looked down and there they were, piled up in the valley.
They'd all jumped off at the same spot.
Cows can't jump, I said. It must have been an accident. They must have strayed too far.
Once is an accident, he said. There were twelve cows down there. He looked troubled by the
memory.
I said, Animals aren't capable of suicide. I thought how common a sight it is to see cows out grazing
on the green plateaus in the Alps. They don't just fall off cliff edges. Not that many.
It must have been something I had done. They felt like slaves or prisoners or something, having me
lock them up in a cowshed. They hated me. They would rather throw themselves off a cliff than be around
me any longer.
I'm sure that's not the case, I said. Cows can't hate.
You don't know much about cows, John.
I shrugged. So did you fence in the suicide spot?

No, no. I thought about it, he said. But then I thought if they want to die, they'll find a way.
I couldn't think of any other way a cow could kill itself.
So I started sleeping out here with them, and eating my dinner with them, to show them I was a
friend. One of them.
What did Diana think?
She wasn't happy. I thought we might be divorced. She said I had lost my mind, I was paranoid,
obsessed.
So what happened?
Christoph spread his palm in front of him and thumbed the golden callouses at the bottom of each
finger. They were rough, worn, useful hands.
They stopped jumping. I still sleep out here once a week.
That must be difficult, I said. Even in winter?
Cracks of daylight shot through the wooden panels of the barn. It would have been hell in winter.
Of course, he said. That's why I drink so much Guinness.
I thought about how cold I had been the previous night, in midsummer, after several pints. He must
have to get through a whole keg.
I think it's time to get her out, John. Are you ready? Christoph rubbed his palms together. I felt
queasy. The silage had a smell that reached down my throat and hooked at my stomach.
What do I have to do?
Christoph attached a set of calving chains to the protruding hooves making a loop around the
fetlock, and just below the knee.
Pull when I say. Easy! We pull out and down when she is straining, and try to ease her out when she
isn't.
Right. I still had no idea what to do.
Christoph double checked the chains and we took one each. The heifer groaned. It resonated around
the barn, the whole landscape must have heard. We tugged at the chains.
More! Christoph urged.
I braced my knees and squatted, putting all my weight through the chain. I imagined it curled up in
the foetal position, rolled into a ball with its head jutting out, hooves tucked beneath its chin, preparing to
emerge into the mountain air. It wouldn't budge. It was a tug of war; two men losing against an unborn calf.
It's not moving, I said, chains cold and breaking the skin on my palms.
Shut up, and pull, he said, grunting as his top lip curled onto his gums.
We heaved harder, urging the calf out. For the amount of force we were putting through the thing, I
would have expected it to catapult out and splat on the wall.
Here she comes, Christoph said.
The head popped into view. The sac covered its face. Its head stretched the heifer's vagina to the
point that it might split.
From there, it didn't take much to get her out. The chains jangled and fell slack as the calf slipped out
from its mother and onto the floor. Its black skin was shiny, leathery, covered in gunk. Christoph quickly
punctured the amniotic sac and ripped it away. A rush of afterbirth chased out after it, landing in a steaming
pile. I dropped the chain, inspecting the blisters on my palms. The mother soon shuffled to her feet, licked
the new-born, cleaning the fluid away with her pink tongue. Christoph hugged me.
The calf strained, trying to stand. I watched it use all of its force, willing its legs to work, trying to prop
itself up and take its first feed. It was soon on its hind legs, but not quite strong enough to be completely free
standing. It was doubled over, resting its weight on its knees.
You can name her, if you like, Christoph said.
Flies fizzed around the afterbirth. The calf wobbled over to its mother, nuzzling into its teat. She was
on all fours, fully fledged, tottering around on her new legs. I remembered the fact Eva told me once, about
cows emitting enough methane to damage the ozone layer. I wasn't even sure if that was true.
Call her Eva.
#
We washed up in the house. I had another shower and scrubbed the slime and hay and stink from my
skin. I pulled my telephone out from my bag and called Eva. I didn't know what I wanted to say to her. I just
wanted her to hear my voice and to hear hers, and to feel like everything was going to be okay.
I pressed the phone to my ear. Between the before ringing I could hear the thudding of my heart
through my chest. She didn't answer.
I stuffed the phone back into my bag, got dressed and joined Diana in the kitchen.
Hungry? she said.
I was starving, but having only recently pulled a calf out of a cow's vagina, I didn't feel too peckish.
We can have chicken and potatoes, later. She wore a blue and white apron tied closely around her
neat little waist. For now, I can poach some eggs?
That sounds amazing, Diana. Thank you.
Diana clinked a pan full of water onto the hob and flicked the gas on. Christoph returned from
cleaning up, but in the same clothes.
Chicken? he said.
Diana smiled, Yes, chicken. Always chicken for you.
Thank God for chicken! Christoph said, holding the raw bird aloft in two hands. He was like a kid
after eating a bag of sweets. Do you believe in God, John?
His serious tone jarred with the uncooked chicken in his hands.
Put it down, Christoph, Diana said. He dropped the chicken down on the counter, kissing his wife
on the forehead.
I'd like to, I said, wondering if it was a trick question.
Well we have to baptise Eva tonight. Christoph shuffled onto a kitchen counter, letting his legs
dangle on the cupboards.
You baptise the calves?
Christoph jumped down from the counter.
Yes, all of them. I began baptising them when they started jumping. A ginger tomcat pattered into
the kitchen, collar bell tinkling. Christoph scooped it up in his arms and scratched its chin. It purred. Are
you not baptised, John?
Yes, I was, as a baby. You're assigned faith the same as lung cancer or dementia. It's all out of your
control.
And what about now? If you could be without religion, you would be?
That's a decision I don't need to make, I said. Christoph kissed the cat on the nose.
Diana, tell John your story.
What's this? I said.
My wife has proof of God, he said. Something that happened to her, years ago.
Christoph, she said. You know I don't like to tell this story.
Please. Christoph dropped the cat and pulled a chair out for Diana. She picked a plate out of the
drying rack and put it away in a cupboard. Diana, Christoph urged.
Diana picked a broom from the corner and swept crumbs into a neat pile by the door. She ignored
him.
I don't want to speak of it, she said. I hate remembering.
It's a very troubling story, Christoph whispered to me. It's a special story, Diana. I promise I won't
ask you to tell it ever again, just tell John what happened. I've made him curious now.
I was curious. Once there's something to be known it's unbearable to go without knowing it. Diana
stopped sweeping. She had her back to us, facing the door. After a moment, she untied her apron, hanging it
on the back of the door, then joined us at the table.
This is not an easy story for me to tell, Diana said. But it is true, every word. So please, don't
question it. I cannot explain it, but it happened.
Of course, I said. Christoph nodded.
Diana licked her finger and dabbed at tiny crumbs on the table top.
I visited London, she began. Years ago. I stayed with my cousin, in Clapham. One evening it was
late, and very dark, I was lost. I was alone, completely alone. Just me, she said.
Sure, I said. She looked confused at why I had spoken. I know Clapham.
The only way I knew to get home was through a dark alleyway, a tunnel. There was a man there. A
big man, alone, right in the middle. He was waiting there. I thought about it a while, about whether I should
do this or not. I thought I could pretend to be on the telephone, but he would know. I thought something bad
would happen.
Tell him what you did, Diana! Christoph clapped his hands in anticipation. It didn't seem to matter
that he had probably heard the story a dozen times before.
I said a prayer. A few words, for protection, safe passage. And I walked through the tunnel.
The water bubbled up to the brim of the saucepan.
It was fine, I walked through past the man and nothing happened.
The tomcat jumped up onto the counter, sniffing around for something to eat.
But that's not it, Christoph said. Tell him.
Give me a chance, said Diana. I was called to give evidence, soon after that night, as it turned out
that man did attack a woman. He raped her. She paused. Christoph squeezed her hand. Right there, he did
it. The place where I passed through just fine. She locked her fingers together.
I was silent. Hairs on my back prickled up like pine needles. Do you believe the prayer protected
you?
Diana ignored me. She didnt look at me or Christoph. She just stared into the table.
In court, I saw him, the same man, on trial, I knew his face. He was charged with rape and 5 years in
prison.
Is that it? I said. I wasn't sure if either of them heard me.
When I gave my evidence, my statement, about when I was there, and was it him I recognised, the
judge asked him why he didn't attack me, why I wasn't the victim something I had been thinking about
ever since I heard the news. Tears lingered on her cheeks. The water spilled over the saucepan, bubbling
and evaporating over the edge into hot air. Christoph jumped up and reduced the gas, bridging a wooden
spoon across the saucepan.
You'll never guess what he said. Christoph picked up the cat and cradled it like a babe.
He said, 'Why would I attack her, when she was walking with two big men?'
But she was alone that night, completely.
#
That evening, Christoph, Diana and myself went out to the barn and baptised the calf. Christoph lit candles
in jam jars and hung multi-coloured bunting along the wooden beams. Diana and I watched as Christoph
patted the calf on its head.
We are gathered here today to baptise this child, Christoph began. And to recognise that she is the
child of God.
Does he always do this? I whispered to Diana.
What do you think?
Christoph held the calf's face between his hands and kissed its head.
Water is used in this ceremony to symbolize the water of life, he continued. Let us remember that
the water used in this baptism is the symbol of immersion in the life of God. The life of God surrounds us,
fills us, and flows through us, as us. He signalled to Diana.
She handed me her candle and picked up the red bucket, then poured some water over the calf's
head. The calf jolted and tried to squirm out of Christoph's grasp, but he held on to the animal tight, dipped
his index finger in the remaining water, and marked out a cross on the calf's head.
Baptism marks the beginning of a journey with God which continues for the rest of our lives, he
said. Let this be the beginning of our journey with Eva.
The candles flickered around the barn. I walked outside with Diana while Christoph tended to the
calf. The hillside was in darkness, the distant lights of Luzern fizzled out one by one, like fingers pinching
out the flames of matchsticks.
Has he always been so religious? I asked her. We were standing a little way down from the barn.
Below us, telegraph poles punctuated the shoreline, connecting a wire all the way around the hillside and
down into the basin, to Luzern. The lake looked completely bare from our viewpoint, all of the sailboats tied
in at shore. The empty tongue of water stretched between the dark mountains, and along through the valley.
That was nothing, she said. He used to drive the calves down to the lake and baptise them in the
water. A few more lights flicked off in the town. It was all after I told him about what happened in London.
He was never a believer in anything before that.
He's very content with his beliefs, I said.
Yes, she said. A calf was born on Christmas day a few years ago, he called her Jesus.
It didn't seem to matter that it was a girl then, I laughed.

You could punch him in the face and he'd be convinced it was a message from God.
Well it's amazing, what happened to you, I said. And then, I'm sorry. I didn't mean amazing, just
unlikely.
She ignored my blabber.
Do you think you will sort things, with your girlfriend? she said.
I hope so, I said.
I think you would do better to travel alone, Diana said. Women are nothing but trouble. She
laughed. In the darkness I couldn't see the creases around her eyes and mouth. She looked just like Eva.
I don't know. I want to see Eva, I said. Even though it would be good to just forget about her.
Eva? Do you not like cows? Diana asked.
Oh, no, I said. Eva is the name of my girlfriend.
She laughed.
I thought we had something in common.
Christoph wandered out from the barn.
John, he called. I'm going to have one beer before I go to bed, if you would like to?
Yes, I said. I would.
He walked back into the house. Diana and I stayed outside.
After a minute, Diana said, So what happened with Eva? Why did you break up?
She said it's because we are so far from each other.
But you are here now, Diana said.
I know, I said. Women are nothing but trouble.
Some things just can't be explained. Diana stroked the hair on the back of my head. I felt like a six
year old boy again.
Will you go to see her?
I might do, tomorrow. To say goodbye.

Maybe, she said, her hand moving away from my hair and resting on my shoulder. Of course, she
won't want you if you chase her.
No?
If you want her to want you, you have to make it very clear that you don't want her. So you should
probably get as far away from her as possible.
We both laughed. The ginger cat rubbed its head against my leg, pacing a figure of 8 between my
legs.
I want you to know something, John.
The pine trees along the hillside shivered in the breeze. The picket fence away to the left of the farm
rattled as loose barbed wire clinked on the metal gate. The cat ran away.
What is it? I asked.
You cannot tell a soul she began, pausing to lock her arms across her chest. I noticed her breasts
jigged up towards her collar bone. I mean that. I have never told anyone this. Especially Christoph.
Of course, Diana.
I just have to tell someone.
What is it? I asked.
What I told you about the alleyway in London, about how I prayed to God to protect me, she
paused. Her eyes weren't looking at me anymore; she was staring out at the lake, into the starless sky. I
made it up, John, she said.
Silent tears streaked down her cheeks. She was breaking down.
Why?
To protect Christoph.
From what? I asked. She moved closer to me, wrapping her fingers around my forearm. Her
wedding ring pressed cold against my skin.
It was me, she said. I was attacked. She buried her head into my chest. I wrapped my arms around
her.
It's okay, I said, as you do when the worst things happen.
As I held her, I watched more and more lights go out in the distance. One light glowed brighter than
any other. I looked at it for too long, daydreaming, wondering what it could be illuminating. It dazzled me. I
winced and drew my eyes away from it, burying my nose and face into Diana's hair. But the light was
blinding the glare had made an impression on my sight. It fogged my vision. I rubbed my eyelids with my
fingertips, trying to make it go away. I could see it behind my eyelids when I closed my eyes.
I could see it, even when it wasn't there.
Spring 2015
Peter Donnelly
Underground
I: Quiet Vortices and Scuba Diving
The clock ticks insistently and the idea
Is cocooned and wombed in the underbelly
Of my thoughts, well below the terra firma
Of conscious cognizance. Agents move secretly
Beneath, swish and whisk currents unknown to me
Into the murky waters. Do they dictate
My future? Am I actually at their mercy?
Every man is the architect of his own fate.
I'm not relaxed enough today to inundate
Myself with them for profound scuba diving:
It is not possible to estimate
Which vortice today is strong or strengthening.
To the sibyls the angels convey
What's to secret mirth and open dismay.
II: Faultlines
Istanbul,
Ancient beauty,
Was Constantinople and
Before that Byzantium,
Yet sits pretty now on a
Massive faultline.
Shock waves detected and the seismograph
Flutters madly to record the subterranean
Activity: faultlines etched early in life,
Or even before? Virtual plates in the cranium
Shift and slip. Still though, the continuum
Of consciousness is deeper and ever-deepening;
More than ever now I desire to come
Back to my older and better being.
It is further away than ever when I am speaking.
Somnambulantly in their huge masses
And dimensions, the plates are jostling,
Perhaps, to be clear of the others.
Contact: the earth shuddered ever so
Slightly. The terra firma will never know.
Dresden Porcelain
I
Like Dresden Porcelain her hands
Were and they held both bounty
And glamour more or less lightly
And easily in their flats and slants
Made on an oak table
In autumn, in summer.
Sunlight over
Varnished brown, and the treble
Tones reached by her voice
Occasionally when she was exercised
By certain points of her narrated
Quotidiana. Sometimes her mother's
Spirit seemed to jar silently
In the air and swill a bit
Inter-generationally at
The wood and space about the crockery,
Aggravated, I fear, by crepuscular
Noiselessness and the hay less golden
In the field gaping through the Venetian
Blinds. Then swelling darkness spectacular.
II
Crepuscular rays spraying
All through France,
The
Evening clink-clacking
With ptanque.
The Banker's Characters

The minute detail of the girders of distressed
Assets photoshopped into my dream
Which was intense, shaky, fast.
And in the superdepths, a ream
Of figures in a boardroom; they were
Represented by two or three figures.
The financial meltdown was a super-dense blur
For me. Was heavy. Was made of weeks
Blowing their memory-rafters with data
From the Dow Jones and FTSE.
I have friends in America;
Undercover and under-fire, they speak to me
Now. I swear, we'll speak also then,
When all in this country's in ruin again.
Floating Tone
the wood-pigeon's concerto for oboe and strings,
allegro, blowing your mind.
Paul Muldoon
I
Mellifluous like the breath
Coming back off the cork in a woodwind
Instrument this was her voice sweet, clean, speedy, speaking
Of sweet goddam nothing with me.
Yet God somehow had edited, elucidated her score,
And certain syllables ensconced themselves
A bit deeper in her speech than in mine:
Time clipped and held for split-seconds
That certain notes may swell their waves.
II
When the muse was
Mute, I knew,
She actually dulcet-whispered
Reverberations that skipped and skimmed, and shifted,
And echoed through and on and across
The bedrock of the brain.
III
Autotuner in certain cases
Comes as standard,
Wired into the mind's hardware.
I can hear her in her tune.
Spring 2015
Paul Dickey
God
A man was crawling around the floor on all fours looking for a dropped screw out of a motor
and he found God. He was a tiny God of course, but the man knew He would have to do.
Besides, he was sure everyone had theirs already. At first, no one noticed what the man had
found. The motor started working again and everyone assumed the screw had been found.
But soon the man used his God in mysterious ways lifting oil stains out of the carpet,
creating fire from sticks, knocking bananas out of trees before the others got to them. He had
to do it. The neighbors particularly were bad and competitive that way. The others
consequently did not survive, it was written. Or at least didnt get ahead, as it was said around
the water fountain. Some say it was their evil ways, their Gods were not the true God, or
maybe, it was natural selection -- but that sounded too much like that old fashioned theory of
evolution to many (or at least those who were old enough to have studied it when it had been
taught in school) and so no one actually thought that anymore. But Darwin never said God
did not exist.
Hacking Rilkes Phone

Rilke quotations are from his novel The Notebooks of
Malte Laurids Brigge translated by M. D. Herter Norton
Rilke wont play ball with us, they said.
But we got the scoop.
He had no clue what our thugs
are now capable of. He thought it
a scandal that his patron Werner Reinhart
had put him up in a drafty castle,
but now we can tell you why he did.
It is just modern journalism.
Listen. We got this on tape from the man
professing silence to the world, so-called solitude:
One must see many cities, men, and things.
One must be able to think back to days of childhood
that are still unexplained, to parents whom one had to hurt
when they brought joy and did not grasp it.
Although admittedly we ached to get him
on prime-time cable news for the ratings,
we could not imagine or abide
his hypocrisy and treason.
He got away in the end with nothing from us,
even though he continued to protest
and it is not yet enough.
One must have memories of many nights of love,
none like the others.
One must have been beside the dying,
sat beside the dead in the room
with the open window and the fitful noises
not till then can it happen
that in a most rare hour the first word goes forth.
Us, ashamed? Naw, we are proud of ourselves.
Elbowed out of the twenty-four hour news cycle,
we knew the world would lose interest
in this minor Bohemian poet.
We had bugged his room and his roses
with thorns for the sake of a single story.
Cracker Barrel
In the valley of the shadow of death, I found no good or evil. My wife was with me. We
stopped at Cracker Barrel for breakfast, lunch, and dinner twenty-four hours a day. The
parking lot was without form, and void. We are at last home from our travels, Penelope, I
said while getting out of the car. Our sons sister-in-laws husband worked at a Cracker Barrel
in Alabama. We walked through the garden of retro Coca Cola trays and nostalgic divinity in
the cool of the day. I shall not want. Like I said, my wife was with me. But Jamal is not from
the tropical paradise of Jamaica, as is our daughter-in-laws family. In the dining room, the
warmth of the massive fireplace burned in the presence of my friends and enemies. The
management saw that it was good. The staff they comfort me. My boyhood god Bob Dylan ate
biscuits and gravy alone in the corner in his running shoes and a hoodie. He seemed to want
it no other way. Fifty years ago, Jamal and he might have been Black, even Afro-American. He
looks among the salt and pepper shakers for new songs of early Greek and Roman kings and
high flood waters. My cup runneth over, sings Ed Ames, as if it is the greatest love song of all
time. And Bob saw that it was good and he was jealous. Already on tour, Bob got up from his
table and he too walked the valley of the shadow of death, but with his almost invisible
security. And Bob said, let there be a firm ad man in the midst, and let him divide the waiters
from the waiters. And it was so. And Bob said, Let there be a bus, and there was a bus.
How Would We Live Then?

I just have one little question, I said to Betty who was packing. Do you mind? Dont be silly,
she exclaimed, anything. Anything, I asked? Well, what if we do, and the baby turns out to
have an absolutely non-stop, leaky basement? No matter what landscaping we try, nothing
works. Every time it rains, I am down there all night moving furniture just to keep us dry. She
says that is why she loves me. Anything else, she laughs? Well, what if our dream house, the
one with five bedrooms and four baths that we build in ten years, gets lousy gas mileage and
the price at the pump goes to $10 per gallon? She says well, I suppose we would sell it. There are
always options, of course. But that wont happen. And I come back, but what about that Lexus
after I get my promotion? It could be totally, well, you know, challenged. I know that sounds
harsh, but things like that happen to people and what would we do? The steering wheel wont
ever say a blasted word. I lose my temper and all and stay up in the garage all night insanely
pounding on it. Some totally genetic thing or other. She looks at me and screws up her face.
Jack? What are you saying? Youd be a father. You wouldnt do a thing like that. I reply, well just
look at Dons Fiat. Yeah, it was cute for awhile making all those silly gurgling noises, but then
even Josie began to sound sad whenever she rode in it. Betty replied this is just not going to
happen to us. I argued well, it could. And we would still love each other, she cried, and bounded
from the room and went back to her packing. I got more and more depressed. In a while, she
sneaked back into the room and hugged me. So what if none of those horrible, horrible things
actually happen? Huh, Jack? What will we do then? Her voice was sounding a bit desperate.
Well, I said, I guess everything would be perfect. Like our vacation tomorrow to Arizona,
changing the subject. Right, she concluded, and scooted quickly out of the room and back to
her packing. And I got to thinking. My ex, Julie, began to seem prettier to me than Betty, and I
remembered that I had kissed Julie once and the whole side of her mouth looked like the
awesome and beautiful East side of the Grand Canyon.
Spring 2015
Parker Weston
Six Word Stories
We visited the combustible genital exhibit.

Number 9, that's the fetus responsible.
Her helicopter wound is healing nicely.
The asshole doesn't need the head.
Preacher launches bible at possessed cripple.
Snack kid swallows dwarf stripper alive.
Claustrophobic astronaut needs to air out.
Blind cartoons never hear onomatopoeia coming.
Lunch lady's hands look like hamburger.
Which racing ambulance has bigger emergency?
There is a Power
Lone passenger in back of a white stre-tch limousine that is on fire.
Nobody is driving, the car cruises at a c r a w l
a downward spiral funneling into oblivion.
I look out the window with empty eye sockets.
The scenery changes, ruins of city
towering vegetation rising out of the disturbed earth
dwarfing every building like forgotten tombstones.
My lips, nose and ears fall away my face feels very thin.
I wither, crack, not even a husk,
only a pile of bone dust calcifying my clothes.
A man in a dark suit wearing a button that reads
'I LOVE MY FUCKING JOB'
waiting at the bottom of the d
o
w
n
g
r
a
d
e. He gets in back where I was seated and pulls out a straw
begins to snort my remnants like an earthen cocaine.
The
drip slides into his mouth
he spits what is left of me into the fire
surrounding death's baby carriage.
The meaning of life is camera flashes of mirrors in the dark

The dark in mirrors of flashes is camera life of the meaning
Is the camera of mirrors of dark life the meaning in flashes
Flashes of life is the dark mirrors in the camera of meaning
In the mirrors the life of dark camera is meaning of flashes
Life of mirrors the dark in meaning of the flashes in camera
The is in of meaning life flashes the dark of camera mirrors
Mirrors of dark in life flashes meaning is the camera of the
In the life of camera dark the flashes is mirrors of meaning
Of camera meaning the mirrors life in flashes the dark is of
The meaning of the dark in life flashes is camera of mirrors
Life meaning camera the dark is of in meaning of the flashes
Spring 2015
Nickolas Maynard
Thoughts of Home
Warm summer days cross my mind
like thinning clouds, bleeding into the teal blue sky
blending of the basics
the simple, the content
primary colors fusing together, painting
my soul a million hues and shades
my body is the extension of my spirit
pure, tainted, torn, confused,
human
tangible entities written in stone, marking history
with their impressions, like ripples in the ponds of time,
they fade away, yet sometimes remembered
on those glorious days.
A Soldiers Shame
Conquering what seemed harmless
attempting what has become
inept, overwhelming sense
of grief, despair, lost hope
to only feel and know
what was forgotten, left
struggling to reminisce
in the cold shadows of regression
foreign eyes piercing mine
as I sleep
urging me to awaken and pace
the world for the rest of my waking life
in search of understanding
trying to decipher the enigma
that entangles my every action
past, present and future
with my conscience weaving the very thread
of this current dilemma
I call shame
Spring 2015
Nick Monks
Artemis- The Olympians

Artemis found a job in the chip shop
It was only four evenings a week
She only had barely enough for bills and food
As the queue round around in front of the hot shelfs
She thought of the wild Caledonian Scots Pine Forests
The Wild Boar and Beavers, Otters, Goshawks, Wolfs
Can i have more scraps said a scraggy kid frowning
I hear terrible things happened to that kid.
Bert grumpily took the sweets from his children
Her eyes glace over five lots of fish and chips, three with fish cod
And two barn cakes. Do you want salt and vinegar said Artemis
Unleashing an arrow into the ribs of a wild beast
On a chill evening the Cairngorms rise like the new Byzantium
Artemis is making a cup of coffee, 3000 years ago
The Stranger
Integrity has no need of rules- Albert Camus
Meaning of an acknowleged and harrowing otherness- Julia Kristeva
The stranger is me
I am at your door
I am skirting around the edges of your dreams
Death is my middle name
Do not let me in
I know no one and am versed in all knowledge
I am the other you have dreamed of
While building a family
When it all comes crashing down
I may or may not be there for you
My mother and father mean nothing to me
I fought in Byzantium, Rome and Athens
Always on the side of the underdog
I laugh at politicians speeches
Because I am just
Do not read this poem
I am coming from the East on horseback
I am the love espoused in the gospels
The mirror you have been avoiding for 4000 years
Belmont Moor- Lancashire No 71

Lines:
Like the lines of her face
From chin to ear
Like the frayed edges of black bob hair
Lines drawn through a city
Over a city, erazing a city
By line power, drawing
The curve of peat meets weather
Two figurines in blue and red
One small red the other taller blue
Disappear over the summit
As you disappear into
Not so much as lost, as within intwixt
The line of shore meets ocean
The peat like no known food
Yes you do not have to go back
Only heather pollen is unaware not a line
Except in death
As five red grouse
Half talk , they too disappear over the horizon
But the figurines the red grouse add one more colour each
Narrative No 14- Siskins Wings

What are Siskins Wings made of?
Sugar and water, guey newspaper torn into strips, candle wax
Why are they green?
To mirror the Scotch Pines on Christmas day
Can I borrow there wings?
No!
Can I make wings?
Only impossible wings, yes
What do Siskins sing of in a cage?
The pine forests of Norway, and the princess
I am flying on impossible wings over the Tundra in my dreams
A clogged earth bound troll with a travelling mind
Spring 2015
N(at)IV(ity) : variations
i.i
The virgin conceived curds and honey. A child with open mouth stretched his hand to fatherless widows. His arm
multiplied clefts of thorns. Arrogant bricks had fallen. Sycamores were cut but replaced with cedar adversaries.
Everyone was a hypocrite.
i.ii
The child conceived of butter and honey abhorred the fly's hiss. The desolate hypocrite stretched his hand for
thorns through smoke. Burning blood changed widows into cedars. In pride and stoutness, bricks fell from the head
of the prophet.
i.iii
A lighted child spoiled smoke. His no-end stone government should be hewn word. Sycamores breached into
cedars. For threescore and five years, a virgin weary of butter and honey should refuse to eat. Nevertheless,
fatherless widows destroyed a hypocrite.
ii.i
Great mourning comforted her children because they were no more. Now Herod clothed in camel's hair was dead.
The betrothed prophet's worshipped star baptized Babylon in myrrh.
ii.ii
Herod begat and begat myrrh. The prophet fell down as a publick example. Being warned of a dream, the young
child diligently sent the star into Bethlehem.
ii.iii
Weeping prophets fulfilled a city into parts. Mocked children comforted the virgin, bidden to behold. The publick
example troubled the star by writing. Words gathered sleep together.
iii.i
A widow housed temple virginity. From generation to generation, soldiers wrapped a babe. A barren son beheld the
maidservant's blameless flesh in the word. Consolation anxiously reigned.
iii.ii
Blessed mother was set to fall. Her virginity was a widow of fourscore and four years. The wilderness of baptized
vipers made flesh in swaddling clothes smooth.
iii.iii
In their flock, baptized vipers laid axe to root. Meat of the womb sought a sacrifice. His name loosed. The
circumcising feast swaddled words for the book.
Spring 2015
Natsuko Hirata
The Shot
Every daybreak,
the sole
you who are
hitting the targets.
The celestial sphere
of brittle cells,
frost fell in
the well-spent wilderness.
Lustrous solitude.
The diamond conviction
flows into the Grand Canal.
I am
within the splash.
FACELESS STATUE'S VOICE

A plaintive voice
to revive me changed to vapor
through the velar.
It'll penetrate into paramagnet.
But where is the tone?
The face is always hidden.
Or is it a face?
Enumerated
inorganic words.
Illusion of words
is eroding sensorium
to be an unfinished dream.
Symmetrical gardens,
statue,
then a living woman's face.
The voice was the statue's.
The tone was the woman's.
The woman? You.
Spring 2015
Nat Buchbinder
Sebastian's Suit
Sebastians nicer suit had stayed in his closet for six months. It had not been worn to work, or to parent-teacher
conferences, or to family counseling, or to any of the investigation proceedings, or even to Liams funeral. His blue tie,
the one with the little golden hawk on it, that had stayed in the closet, too. And the white shirt, the black leather belt
and shoes, even the black socks and white undergarments, everything he had worn that day in August had not left the
closet.
Whenever Sebastian tried to pick up any of them, a ghost reached out and touched his hand. Something else
had woven itself through the fibers of those clothes, something evil. He could not bring himself to touch them.
It also took him some time to be able to drive again, and even longer for him to do it with Ciara in the car, but
that seemed more reasonable, at least on the surface.
But his other suit, the less nice one, was starting to get a little rough at the knees and elbows. After wearing it
every single day, for every single event, the left cuff was beginning to fray. And it was difficult, every week, to plan
for a time to clean it when he wouldnt need it.
Juliette stopped him when he was carrying it, the less nice suit, on his way to mail a check and pick up a
prescription one Friday.

Why are you taking that suit?
Oh. He looked down at the pants and jacket draped over his arm. I was just going to get it cleaned, since
Im going out anyway.
Why didnt you give it to me yesterday when I took all that stuff to the cleaners?
Sebastian shrugged. I needed it yesterday.
For what?
For work.
Juliette crossed her arms over her chest. Whats wrong with the other one?
Sebastian knew exactly what was wrong with it. It was that ghost, its tiny black hands, its rotting odor, but he
could not say that out loud. That would make him crazy. I just didnt really think of it.
Juliette rolled her eyes but put down her arms. Okay. Im planning to have dinner on the table in about thirty
minutes so try not to be out too long.
He nodded. No problem, its just a few short errands.
Sebastian opened the garage door and got into the car as it slid upwards. Before putting in the key he recited,
inside of his mind, Im sorry, Im sorry, Im sorry. Because the ghost lived in the car, too, but he couldnt completely
give up driving, so he had to try to appease it some other way. He turned on the car and apologized again before
shifting into reverse and backing out.
When he stopped at a stop sign he glanced at the back seat and apologized. It was empty, of course, but he did
it every time he stopped for a light or a sign. Even when he wasnt stopped but he had to slow down a bit, he looked
quickly at the brown leather and Ciaras empty blue car seat, Im sorry. The ghost was a silent one, so Sebastian had
no way of knowing if this was what it wanted. But he had been checking that back seat and apologizing for six months
and nothing terrible had happened in those six months, so he knew that at least it did not hurt.
After he pulled into a parking spot at the horseshoe shopping center he got out and opened the back seat door,
bending slightly to look in, and apologized again. He shut the door, but it didnt feel right, so he shut it again. Its
good enough, Im sorry, Its good enough, he repeated again and again as he locked the car with the click of a button,
dropped the letter into the mailbox and carried the suit to the cleaners.
The woman behind the register looked up at him, nodding. Another rush?
Sebastian also nodded. Please. I need it Monday.
Alright, youll have it. She took and suit and the money which Sebastian already had counted out. See you
Monday.
Have a good weekend. Sebastian winced at the sound of the bell when he went into the drugstore. The car
door was still on his mind. Walking past the candy bars and scented soaped, he apologized with each step until he got
to the counter.
Hi, I called in a prescription?
Whats the name? The pharmacist turned, looking through the bags.
Its under Segal.
The pharmacist lifted the bag. Date of birth?

Four, Sixteen, Seventy-Nine.
Please sign. The pharmacist pointed to the glowing pad on the counter. Sebastian checked that he did not
need to know more about the drug, then signed with the plastic stylus. Have a nice day, Mr. Segal.
You, too. Sebastian took the paper bag and went back to the car. He unlocked it with two clicks, then opened
the door to the back seat. It was empty, except for Ciaras seat. It was always empty.
He took a deep breath, then got into the drivers seat. Apologizing to the ghost, he turned the car on and
carefully inched backwards into the parking lot. He breathed heavily, trying to hold each inhale and exhale as long as
he could.
When he made it back to the house Juliette and Ciara were already at the dining room table.
Sorry I took so long. Sebastian took his seat, where there was already a plate. Peas and broccoli, bowtie
pasta with a creamy sauce, chicken pieces. The smell hit his stomach like a rock dropped into water, but he put a little
of each onto his plate, anyway. He noticed his bony wrist as he held the serving spoon. Ciara was rolling peas around
on her plate. Dont play with your food, sweetie.
The little girl looked at him. How was your day, Daddy?
My day was fine. How was yours?
Evan and I got to play with the dinosaurs. Ciara smiled.
Sebastian remembered that the preschool teacher had started a dinosaur rotation because Ciara and her friend
monopolized them. Thats good. Did you let anyone else play?
No. Ciara shook her head. Its a game thats just for us. No one else can play.
Seb, did you have any problems getting the anxiety stuff? Juliette speared some pasta with her fork.
No, no trouble. Sebastian took a bite of the pasta, and it felt like glue in his mouth. But he chewed it quickly,
then swallowed.
Juliette scraped her knife with her fingernail. Thats good, because Ive almost had it up to here with those
people. Oh, we got that cartoon in the mail, so I thought maybe the three of us would watch it after the doctor.
The doctor? Sebastian wanted to kick himself. Family therapy. Theyd moved the appointment to Friday that
week because on Wednesday Juliette had her bowling thing. Right, that sounds nice. Whats the movie?
The Japanese one? Tototo?
Totoro! Ciara cried, dropping her fork. Sebastian picked it up and went to get her a clean one. When he was
in the kitchen he remembered the suit. Hed just given the less nice suit to the cleaners.
Sebastian gave Ciara the new fork and took his seat. He could just not wear a suit. Show up in some black
jeans and a nice shirt.
No, that would be ridiculous. Even if the therapist didnt notice, Juliette would. It would have to be the other
one. Im sorry. Sebastian looked at his plate. Hed thought of mixing the food around, like a child, to make it look
like hed eaten. But instead he tore off a small piece of chicken skin and put it on his tongue. Greasy and crunchy
when he chewed, it made his stomach turn. He leaned back in the chair. Juliette and Ciara were talking about
something, but he wasnt sure what.

Then he turns around and she was gone! Ciara held up her napkin like she was showing it.
Juliette. Sebastian rubbed his eyes. Im so sorry, but I think Ive got some kind of stomach bug. Why dont
you and Ciara go to see Dr. Keil and Ill just rest?
Juliette shook her head. Since when do you not feel well? You were fine a little while ago.
It came on suddenly. Im sorry. He stared at his plate. His stomach felt heavy but he didnt have that
nauseous feeling in his mouth.
Theres no point in going if you dont go, too. Its family therapy.
Sebastian looked at her. You two arent related to each other? Im sure theres plenty that would be easier for
the both of you to discuss without me.
Thats why we have the individual sessions to start, Seb.
I mean, the two of you together without me. Look, I dont feel well. Do you want me to vomit all over the
table or will you take my word for it?
She crossed her arms. Dont be hostile just because you dont want to do this. After all, we do it for you. You
need it more than either of us. For Gods sake, look at you. Juliette pointed to his plate. You hardly eat, you never
sleep, youre always zoning out.
Sebastian took a deep breath. Its been an extremely trying time for everyone.
For months Ive held this household together while youre going off the deep end, and now you dont even
want to try anymore. Whats the point?

Alright! He slammed his hand on the table. Alright, alright, alright. Ill go. Im sick but Ill go.
Juliettes eyes widened. Dont do it out of spite.
This is the last time. Sebastian got up. Its clearly not working or helping anyone to go down there every
damn week, and we drop so much money on it, and then we have to find a place to park the carits not worth it. This
is the last session.
Fine. Juliette put up her hands. Fine. If thats what you want. Last session. She glanced at the clock on
the wall. Well, if were going to go, we have to get ready now.
Fine. Sebastian brought his plate to the kitchen, scraping the food into the trashcan before leaving it in the
sink. Then he went to the bedroom closet and opened the door.
Its only a suit. Its just a bunch of fabric. Theres nothing different about it than any other suit. He closed his
eyes and pulled the hanger from the bar, then opened his eyes slowly. The thing was in his hand and nothing bad was
happening. He almost laid it on the bed, but he didnt want it to touch his sheets. Instead he hung it from the closet
doorknob.
Sebastian undressed quickly, apologizing with every article of clothing he dropped into the laundry basket.
Then he took the black pants and put them on one leg at a time, holding his breath, Im so sorry. The jacket was a little
easier, falling on top of his shoulders.
He went to the bedroom door and shouted into the hall, Ciara!
Daddy! The girl toddled into the hall and over to Sebastian. Are you ready?
Sebastian looked down at himself. He was wearing the suit. He was wearing the suit. He wasnt wearing any
shoes. I need to get my shoes on, sweetie, but then I will be.
Okay. She went back down the hall and Sebastian returned to the closet. As he laced his shoes he
apologized. But he was still wearing the suit, and Ciara was alright. He put on his coat and went out to the garage,
where Juliette was strapping Ciara into her seat. Juliette got into the car just as he took his spot in the passengers seat.
He closed his eyes as they backed out of the driveway, but opened them once they were on the road.
It wasnt like the last time hed worn it. The last time he wore the nicer suit, it was hot, and hed been the one
driving. Now it was February, and he could feel that little ghost sitting heavy on his lap, crushing his legs as Juliette
turned at the stop sign. It had been so hot. He remembered lowering the volume on the car radio during a news report
about how hot it was.
But this was not that time. They were going to the doctors, the three of them. They were going to talk about
their feelings, about how they miss Liam, about how no one should feel guilty because it wasnt anyones fault. It was
cold outside and had been six months.
Sebastian, are you alright?
He looked at Juliette, who did not take her eyes off the road. Fine.
Hows your stomach?
Its feeling better. It was twisting into knots.
A loud exhale. Im sorry I was short with you before. That was unfair.
Its alright, Jules. Sebastian turned to look out the window. It was dark out, a dark, cold evening, and the last
time hed worn the suit it was hot, bright morning. It was morning, and he had driven to work, then driven back home
in the sweltering afternoon. He remembered the sweat, and he felt the sweat as Juliette pulled into a parking spot.
Leaping out of the car, he opened the door to the back seat, unbuckled Ciara, picked her up in his arms and kissed her
forehead. She was alright. Hed gotten into the car, wearing the suit, and she was just fine.
When Juliette locked the car, he realized Ciara was touching the suit. The ghosts grimy hands might be all
over her fragile little body. But if he put her down, she might run into the street, or a car could come out of nowhere,
so he carried her into the doctors office, apologizing, gripping her with both arms. He only set her down once they got
to the waiting room, while Juliette signed them in.
Then he sat in the hard blue chair and watched Ciara play with the blocks in the corner of the room. The ghost
hadnt done anything to her, and he relaxed a little. But that ghost was still on his lap, laying on its back, with big wide
eyes that used to shine with delight at his face, until the last time hed worn that suit.
Juliette sat down next to him and took a book from her purse. She had stayed home that day, six months ago,
because Ciara had a cold and was running a fever. Usually Juliette dropped Ciara and Liam off at daycare and went to
work, but since Ciara was so sick, she wanted to stay home with her. She asked Sebastian to drop Liam off. He
remembered her asking him while he was pulling up the pants of his nicer suit.
Sebastian looked at his knees. There was nothing on them. Its just a suit. Liam was sleeping when Juliette
had put him in the back of the car, right behind the drivers seat. Liam didnt make a sound, and as Sebastian was
driving on that hot, hot morning he thought about Ciara being sick, and what might make her better sooner, and what
would happen if he caught what she had, and then he remembered the last time hed been really sick, and how hed
been worried about getting fired if he missed any more work, and he thought about what he would do now if he
actually did get fired, how much worse it would be now with a toddler and a baby to take care of, but maybe if he had a
good enough severance check he could start up his own business, but still it was better to do everything he could to
keep that job, and then he remembered being interviewed for the job and how sweaty and nervous hed been, and by
the time he parked the car in front of his office and went into the building hed forgotten that he was supposed to stop at
Liams daycare. The heat was record-breaking the last time Sebastian had worn that nicer suit, and when he came back
to the car after work Liam was still inside.
END
Spring 2015
Naomi Buck Palagi
exacerbations
exacerbations of the orange phenomenon are such that they lead us onward, when asked, to the left when not. perpetration
of artiholes for considerpassion exercise a minimum of restraint and restartling. all of it is based in the certainty of
pharmacy, across the street. the vanguards of religiosity, rearing their heads. pedestals built, and looked down upon, like
crowd, and crowing, and the perspective of the cornfield. walked to the edge. the astronauts piled up like torches on
Sundays, and fevers running slipshod or horses hooves. all of it passing the immanater as if shyness booked a crowd. feline
forget-me-knots and petroleum reserves. pteradactyls and digitalis, parked before the fire. no pheriginators balk at asking
they stoke the electrics of undertow or negative space. now and til the time gone favored we chile through underbrush,
sniffing as storks fly paretically. those whove not yet ascertained their incubator find solace in forensics, and prepare
indigenously.
it is off-man, and stargazing through forests peels us to bone. all of it peeling us.
decision
when you told me about everything youd done, the airshow, the spitting, the after-effects, I thought, this cant be it.
everything Id done led to that moment, and it wasnt enough. airshows. the planes dipping and twisting like kids bobbing
for every drip of ice cream, surewere alcoholic, we love that shit, but everything Id done led to that moment, my
skinned knees, the lie about the hairband, the dancing too close that one time . there is more to it, airshows like skyblemish, like varicose veins, like
I dont want to go on. like this. anyone everywhere anything like this.
but demise is slow, defeat
to disagree?
tastes like cider, the doctor says Im at a healthy weight and who am I
Dark: Chorale
Voice 1
Voice 2
Voice 3
each one had been lonely on her

own, so we thank you for everything
you have done for us
coming down
in the dark
fits and starts from town to trees
particle theory explains the traffic

patterns,
stop signs, and also, music.
in part because no one has ever

asked that particular question, that
one
dumb to questions, dumb to
answers, dumb, but
in silence the branches pass by,
the glistening road loud, the
intersections spersed with signs
in the stables, students muck out
late into the night.
handshakes.
guitar delicates the spine, the rib

cage then the yelling, the yelling,
the rage, the pounding, the
steering wheel, the glorious
Storm must not eat hay that has
not been soaked in water.
Sometimes the girls find each other
and laugh with surprise. A new life
is not always dreary, there is still life.
the street signs repeat themselves
in odd patterns, the playgrounds
repeating, the ditches drawing
lines to show unique
dumb to questions, dumb to
answers, dumb, yet
the desperation comes in layers,
or else in waves, of sincerity,
sometimes, Woman, I've gotta leave
you rubbing up the leg, the lure of
the desperate so delicious, the
tongue
eating the straw grass in the wet
field, the orange construction
signs glistening
constructive use of education is the
career counseling of bugbears, the
bug bear or the soup special of the
Tuesday. Papa bear said this chair is
too hard.
once they've spoken there is little

left to say, but the lights are on
bright until well into the night, the
girls wear boots, they are all girls.
ross and whitcomb and cline and
taft and taney place. Place. The
getting lost and refound the
amazing
grace is the last word of the last table,
it is something to be born into, it is
something to be born, to
these horses' backs are taller than
a girl's head, a girl is borne up and
sometimes, the horses fly
bridges, roads out, around the
pond, the lake, the airfield, the car
warm and rattling by now, the
music loud, fits and starts
between
wouldn't, really, we want to see
them fly, for those few moments,
that warm rub to the stomach, the
loin, the weight silent for now,
while airborn.
strobe light of known/unknown
hand shakes. Chest tight, excited.
The reason for meaningful
occupation.
the light into the night, mucking
out a stable, providing moistened
hay to an old horse.
Streetlamp: Chorale
Voice 1
highlighting the wind, how it is to be
pushed in one direction so long
Voice 2
Voice 3
binderclip for boots

trifecta of branches, there at the
top near the moon
everything I do I do for you
under the streetlamp I call your

name
people are calling, humming, at

the top of their voices
out of alcohol, out of thick stick of
nicotine
bare-assed in the wind, pee soaking
the brown leaves
I regret that possum, I regret
stomping, I regret
not leaving until I think that I
don't.
one pair of pants explained it all,
the mysteries, the incongruities, if
size fourteen was truly
average
I regret washing down the car,
with its markings
wandering toward middle-Am like
this wasn't Griffith, wasn't a town,
wasn't
When the hurricane hit the east
coast the wind kept up for days,
the clouds kept moving, kept
advancing, the size of the storm
from hundreds of miles
away. I imagined being pushed
for so long.
a squirell stayed, tucked away in the
crook of a branch two and a half
stories up.
our story is that we started one
way and ended up another.
our story is
your story, I regret.
explanations falling, tumbling down
like avalanche, not all stories
not all of us can tumble like that,

haven't learned to tuck and roll,
haven't
remember the class in college
where he learned to tumble with
grace, and seuss seems less
insipid.
american beauty so--we are slow to learn initiation.
Inertia and paralysis and those
clouds never calming.
every single day I try to start, the
promise, the swears, the imagined
punishment, rewards. I wake up
each
our alarm is a song
love is a song, ooh-oooh
bop-de-bop
piles
plies and stretches
holes all through it, reaching
through the thick, and eventually
the full moon pops through, sure, the
moon, shedding its light, shining,
that's its thing
the cigar burning her lips and still

she won't start
I have tried everything, but I can't
stand up. My core is not your core,
my core
I regret the washing, I think of the
neighbors, I change the headlights.
Maintenance.
the beefiness, the thickness of his
shoulders, the palm of his thumb,
and still I am thinking of the roast,
of the kitchen, of working late.
I regret late.
vesuvias and lava, we ponder
repaying with electric light, and heat
no such thing as hearth.
hidden pages ripped from a
calendar. "hope." "priorities."
"dream."
and yet jobs are hard to come by.
poets particularly suited
cataloging like peanuts the
infinite ways of classifying, the
guilt
classifying, as we were taught.
one dim light, one bright, one

accessible, one we'll just go on hope,
for now.
principles at the time personified
as female; freedom, liberty,
civilization.
principles beat up like a woman,
like
the poor cannot afford to work at so
low a wage, and then too, there is the
deck
stacked like a shipment of milky
ways, when I smell
stars dusting the sky like sugar,
like autumn and smoke
I am not the only woman here, but I
am
we have begun to talk, guilty as
we are, we decide
fault is bigger, and it is. Soon we
will begin to do the things we
despised, oblivious, in our
working late, of what we have
said. As if the enemy were not the
man in front of us but bigger,
farther
away. The clouds here just a
reminder,
our skies so vulnerable. And so we

vote, with a little more intention
this time, but no more effect.
and so we vote, with our feet.
pony in the circus, we can count, yes,
we can count, watch the man give us
treats.
if I hum,
lately, I have been regretting, and
yet not getting there, still not
sleeping enough, still
the average of the mean, where is the
mean, who
are we set for this, settled? When I
hum, my chest vibrates, and it is
good.
on the seventh day my chest
vibrated, and the tree still has its
bark, the possum
would have found a way around
me, my insidious stomping. I
hummed,
hope is not the same as regret.
I hum.
I hum.
I hum.
I hum.
Spring 2015
Mirline Petit-Frere
The Sun and The Moon

The moon shines brightly
Along with the copper sun
Along with my glowing cage
Inside I yearn
For the touch of light
I yearn for the moon
Long for its glow
I cry for the sun
For the warmth it's never given
For the light it promised me
The light that almost blinded me
I am locked in a room
As bright as the moon
As glowing as the sun
It feigns the sun's warmth
Gives me a sense of security
It glimmers like the moon
Glowing right through me
I begin to dream
Wanting and yearning
Crying for the sun
Weeping for the moon
A light from the dark
The obscurity that surrounds
Begins to glow dimly
A cry from the light
Reaches out for me
I look to find the moon
And instead find the sun
Smiling away
It calls for me, mourning

The moon laughs
The moon glows at me
The moon sets me free
I reach for the sun
And away it goes
Vanishing in the darkness
Sorrowful, smiling
The moon laughs
It glows at me
Like milk it nourishes me
LIke milk it soothes me
Like a child I am content
I am happy, I am free
Away in the daylight
The sun misses me
Here in the dark
A light comforts me
Spring 2015
Michele F Sweeney
The Adverse Valentine

A valentine is an illusionary red pump
That throbs in ones imagination
Pulsating a delusion of loveliness
Through a convoy of Hallmark salutations
Dressed up as unique when really it is a love franchise
A fantasy burger without the lot
(filthy laundry on bedroom floor not shown)
A valentine is a Robin Hood or Maid Marian
Frocked up in ridiculous threads
To knock your socks off and pull down your pants
To reveal an excited edge of skin
Ready to pounce, eager to please
(the tedious act of pleasure wearing a raincoat)
A valentine is a cut out date lit with wax
Velvet shaped boxes containing ice worth a wage
To get the other onto a mattress for a lengthy time
To phone to stroll to hug to bore to whine and dine
(an eternal trip down doldrums lane)
An Ode to Alice Cooper

Alice Cooper dropped into a studio
Tied up a chicken with his pyjama leg
Struck a chord with women bleeding
And he lied right at you
Its just a game this top 40 nonsense
Pathetical jingle circus - trumpets brassed off.
Alice Cooper, panda eyes extraordinaire
Golf club swings the length of a tartan leg
Chicken soup dribbling down leathered skin
Leaving the letter A on the tablecloth
An easy vowel for the Dept of Youth to swallow.
Easter Egg Eyes

The concrete belt my pedicured toes into submission
As I rest on a hip, snarling at your heaving girth
Appearing before me like a proscenium arched stage.
Displaying my today in your sparkling eyes so brown
I drip into them of Easter chocolate tastiness
And melt into palms untying the ribbon that holds it together
Unfolding like a present, falling at your feet.
Spring 2015
Michael Paul Hogan
IMITATIONS OF JACQUES CORRIDA
1.
The tightrope walker
despises the elephant
The aerialiste sleeps
with the tightrope walker
The acrobat reads Baudelaire
in his caravan
The ringmaster wears a coat
like a tuning fork
The ringmasters wife
is a Chinese parasol
The Chinese parasol balances
a seal on its nose
The audience pays to throw
nuts at the elephant
The elephant sleeps
with the ringmasters wife.
2.
Consuela,
you are more vanity
than a tangerine.
When we walk together
among the broken tortillas
you imagine yours breasts torn open
by the teeth of accordion players,
you imagine your nipples
being spat out
on the wet pavement
like strawberry stalks
(although your own teeth lie hidden
in the lipstick-lacquered cavity
of a castanet).
3.
The slender gipsy dances
with a bear
and the nights a shattering
of champagne flutes
and the firework festival begins
Come, dance with me, dance
down this alleyway inbetween
top hats painted
with violent windows
violent and violet and aubergine
I shall bind my heart
with your bears blue chains
while we dance down the cobblestones
of the Boulevard St. Germain.
4.
and came out suddenly the sun
like a painted bicycle
and the zinc table
of the pavement caf
glistened
like a well-shaved armpit
smeared with coconut oil.
5.
Father, must I repudiate you
again and again?
(though to repudiate is to be
repudiated).
When I sit at my typewriter I know
that you who survived Guernica
cannot survive the anger
of my love / my verse.
Is it because of you
that elephants are seldom
(nearly never) aubergines?
Father, why, when I married Consuela,
did you lay the table of your heart
with just one bowl of miserable
paella?
Truth, if there is any truth at all,
must be begat
by understanding;
no father should have sons
who are matadors or undertakers,
least of all
literary ballet dancers.
Let us agree, therefore,
to love and misunderstand
one another,
for we are all of us
broken elevators
trapped between each others floors
Spring 2015
Michael Martrich
Through Cornfields and the Backroads Along the Cornfields
Back into the yard again, Lucas slips startled backwards and the motion-detector lights
split the spitting dogwoods. Lucas slips backwards arms out then on his ass. He dives rolling
dark now in a guffaw behind the spitting dogwoods and bowls bodily into me, both of us
laughing, in bodies in the dark behind the spitting dogwoods, me the weaker is my back pinned
and, behind the spitting dogwoods, from where beams of motion-detector lights splitting the
spitting dogwoods, his weight into my stomach squeezes, Wait, I squeeze, feeling his locked
arms holding my shoulders down, The cops.
Theres a moment of silence taken seriously, my shoulders still held against the ground,
beams through the spitting dogwoods, my hands in his loose shirt but not touching him, my
hands floating.
Nothing. Just light beams through the spitting dogwoods. Everything stops.
Our fingerprints. The bottles.
Hes on all fours looking through the bushes with nothing against my shoulders, nothing
against my stomach. Hes on all fours next to me. Hes forgotten about the bottles we left. The
light through the spitting dogwoods doesnt whisper while he looks past the spitting dogwoods
into the light towards the house. What? He bobs his head between the light through the spitting
dogwoods somehow dangerously into where the light is an abstraction, abstraction and the
house. The lights are houselights, turned on by motion-detectors. The lights have been on
forever, since Lucas slipped startled backwards and he rolled into the spitting dogwoods. Its too
long, much too long for the lights. Theyll know theres something here. Theyll find us for sure
is someones watching. Looking for movement in the house. The door: maybe someones there
or the window. Or the cops.
We left them. Our fingerprints on the bottles, still on my back now I closed my eyes
laughing into my hand in the dark. The sky borders the tree. The stars. On the green,
remember? The hand rubs my face into my hair slowing my laugh is perfectly still and timeless
in laughing.
Jesses got my bag. Where the hell, he was right here, says Lucas squints through
beams of light wont go out splitting the spitting dogwoods recalls Day Timers with the white
goo all over you as landscapers out of high school that summer in green shirts with arms sticky
with spit when pruning that collected stems for hugging bundles of dogwood branches against
our shirts we loaded wheelbarrows. The noise from the house ducks hitting on my head on
Lucas shoulder from each other and onto our backs laughing. The stillness is gone and Jesse
running from the lights through the beams where Lucas slipped and the yard is still bright with
lights but Jesse runs into the dark towards the cornfield dark beyond the first row of stalks
against the lights from the house if he might have seen us.
The lights still on bright in the yard and the yard is bright. Theyll find us. The lights. The
bottles on the green. Fingerprints and were hiding behind the spitting dogwoods.
Just through the yard motion-detector lights Jesse shrieks knowing straight a cop in these
parts couldnt catch his own dick in his own hand if he were pissing. Lucas now up on his knees
whispers loudly, The fuck were you? to Jesse past us running and laughing straight trips
towards the corn trips sideways, airborne with his shoulder forward, past where Lucas slipped
splitting the spitting dogwoods and past us hidden in the dark behind the spitting dogwoods and
the lights still on in the yard is bright when theyll find us, Jesse crashing into a row taking out a
few stalks. Lucas is already there, shouts, Asshole! into the dark gives up our stillness, running
towards the corn looking back thinking I hear voices and someones coming, the cops see the
houselights, lights beams flash flashes shift beyond the houselights and below the hill towards
the woods. Running looking backwards feels slow-motion. Theres a stillness in this movement
in getting away, in running. Behind me a movie. Behind me slow motion, a belief in a stillness,
like how Min looked at James. It doesnt hurt. I feel fine. Her eyes were no longer so big.
Lets have one more dream together. Just one more.
In the shallow end of the pool with Min, James straightens his goggles. Dont look, she
said while James straightened his goggles and suctioned them around his eyes. Min tossed the
pennies into the deep end and her hand under the water let one drop next to her foot. Alright.
James takes a breath, dives towards the deep end.
(She let him go. Just one more.)
Got four! bursting from the surface is, You sure you had five?
Min smiles, thinking of what it means to be missing, gone, or invisible, if invisible is
another infinity: the invisible penny by her foot. Invisibles not quite a liquid. Even mist isnt
quite water. Maybe hes right. But thats the hole in the den, sure, that were simply left here and
deserted or:
the salamanders we found under wet leaves at the edge of the mine hole and once the yellowspotted
we knew was so rare (our fathers said so) and told us not to take them home with us if we
were to find them, the salamanders, and
insects we dont know the names of underneath the rocks. Were left without a middle man if
were not Catholic. But the arc, and then that none of us matter unless its right now, this
visibility, but then like underneath rocks and thinking only of our relations from these rocks, to
these rocks, our rocks, the rocks we know. What happens when you die?
Who fucking cares?
Serious?
Asshole.
Be so burnt wont.
In the tip of the flashing arc, the scythe shape, though underneath our rocks that are mine
and with us, flashes stationary. The flashing arc in Torys vision came out of nowhere, out of the
invisible, but he can see it now. Be so burnt wont even know it, the other shook his head. But
Tory sees the flashing of an arc in his vision, in his head, is some sort of blunted headache or
vision.
Thats my plan.
She let him go. Just one more.
She let him go. Just one more. She lets the other penny drop next to her foot. It was
there but hed never find it. But he knew there was a fifth. He knew it existed or had.
Maybe I dont know.
were the worms and
insects, the salamanders,
Thats my plan, who was eager to follow slowly, James watched rain
ripple across water. But some nights before hed watched them (as if on the outside) in the
yellow lamp light softly countering the blue-turning-black night. He stitched the scenes into
place. He held the conversation. The moon rose over the deciduous hill and the script played into
itself, an everything that seemed to be a part of everything. Everything turned into everything,
like forgetting were looking at a sunset, like forgetting were looking. As if this boy and girl had
just formed out of nothing and were delicate products, as the night came from this organized
scene of impulse,
it changes to then and we see a new now. James felt separated until he felt a part of
everything. And then he couldt say anything, the complete opposite of them who continue
talking like the boy who tells everyone he could have been on the billboard said, That girls a
bitch. Theyre always talking just to say something. But I think of the arc that flashes in my
head, the fingerprint and the name I have given it: Fingerprint. Too, something to the sound on
the leaves, too, on the fallen branches we call smooth wood to each other when the poplar bark is
peeled off like leather.
So much shit to do and I aint even gonna do it, says Lucas.
Bullshit. You always do your work. And whom I gonna copy off?
Your mom always makes you.
Still sits with you at the dinner table, remembering when the yellow-spotted
salamander yawned, how its mouth opened, the soft pink of its tongue, the salamanders, against
the perfect black of amphibian skin, how we didnt want to return it underneath the leaves. But
then the past that will become then and then will be then and be cos weve called it so: thats
always now, a present (a tribal world). And when it changes it changes to then and we see a new
now. And somewhere there invisible, those weve forgotten or never knew existed, those
separate. When does that separation occur? It must at some point.
Well, what do you think it is?
How does he know? thinking impossible is the telepathy or, Stan brings up the internet in
our brains, thinking from trees or the sky, straight-from-the-devil consonants detached from the
vowel symbol, not the sound, or this space, in front of us now like when John and I stood, just
stood there after he said, The hell. This is Tory meeting Stan, an English teacher at Torys school. This is
Stan seeing Tory in the woods.
But I say it anyway, almost stuttering, I think its a math, like a fractal. Like a fractal,
but its flashing. You know? Like a math. A form. Stuttering in my head says Tory.
Stan thinks, a Form. Sure, I know. I know: the Fingerprint. A Form.
Thats how he knows, the smoke and the smoking. He knows the Fingerprint. Its magic,
says Mr. Casper.
A Form,
Tory watches intently, watches him smoke the smell and thinks, thats how he knows
the smoke and the smoking,
that in the dream from these sparkling jagged shapes grew scattered blue flowers.
James knelt down and as he did he was in the graveyard. It grew dark in the dream and the
flowers lost their shine, bowed their heads, and curled within themselves. James, called Min.
Where are you? Stop messing around. James could see the dim blue light from her phone
lighting up just in front of her face. This isnt funny anymore. Hiding behind a bush and not
saying anything, it was a joke. James felt the need to stay apart.
Shed never find him, and James smiled. As he watched her phone stay blue for ten
seconds before going out, and then coming back on only to fade after another ten seconds, he felt
a cool wind. Once you play a trick on someone you cant take it back. It simply is what it is. It
never returns from invisibility.
All this is just a trick
to where the river carved habit where gravity only played a part, tipping at perching. A change in
snake. Or the ocean, losing shape inside. Like an old man on his back on the bottom of a boat
and hidden beneath the boats lip, the old man without his line, at what point do stars break into
their wavering and into absence? The hole in the den is Johns, but I wonder if I can still feel it or
know it, know it when John is gone. Like we were kids, me and John, and they think they know
us all too well all because theyve seen us before at night and because of that, think were up to
no good. But they let us off, every time, after the routine: Wheres down the street? Suburban
patrol cars give us this for us wanting to see the deer in the park at night (thats all) where we
feel something, the something that is taken away with, Wheres down the street? but makes us
laugh. But were here to feel something thats more than laughter where its safe to be together
without talking.
We felt something there in the park at night, where we waited for the deer. Our fathers:
they knew you barely needed permission, knew the days when every street corner wasnt a sign,
when drinking knew no age only the backhand from a parent, when camping out as young boys
was so perfectly normal they knew what it meant to be close to the ground and to be out of reach
of the streetlights, out of reach of cops with their flashlights,
a sort of escape.
They think theyve seen us before.
Lucas keeps up thinking like we keep
the trail between the woods and the cornfield like
lying down the dirt and the stars the hole in the den to lie down in
is sleep and the stars and the wind focus on the hole in the den and sleep in and out is in and out
of sleep. What do we tell them if they stop us? with flashlights and knew our fathers wouldnt
care so we didnt. They knew the days when every street corner wasnt a sign, when drinking
knew no age only the backhand from a parent, when camping out as young boys was so perfectly
normal they knew what it meant to be close to the ground and to be out of reach of the
streetlights, out of reach of cops with their flashlights,
a sort of escape, you barely needed permission.
Their pointing just out of reach, Lucas dirty and his blood theyll search us walking this
backroad late at night. Theyll know the bottles on the green, know it was us, trace them to our
fingerprints. My long hair tied back gives it away. Its the space of trying to think, the deep
inspection. Nobody says anything when, Lets just hang here til morning, is nobody says
anything else walking.
They wont know me in these parts not by the park is the deer and John and the signs
saying, Closed at Dusk. Not with the hole in the den but I know its still there when I look at
the stars but seems hollow. Being silent at night and looking to the stars: no John but still silence.
Johns prolly laughing right now, brings a smile forgetting the cops and bottles. Johns
laughing. And in that moment the silence broken brought us together in bodies, an
acknowledgment of our same feelings expressed in voice and laughter in the dark of a cornfield
and out of reach of streetlights.
The breath that makes lighter like walking to the park to the woods now knowing Lucas
thinking of John when I was thinking of John like the night reminds us but not like me knowing
the hole in the den remembering when the screen door slammed shut and our walking was not
like the walking now but is still getting lighter with a memory not of distance on the trail
between the woods and the cornfield and think to cut across the stream wanting muds another
layer, a documentation, a tattoo. The night covers us as dirt and mud, cornstalks and smoking
skywards from on our backs blown through the stalks passing off to each other the smoke
thinking the hole in the den always a layer or surrounding like the bottles left on the green < the
flashlights > thinking Im safe, now. This is my family out of reach of streetlights.
Lucas keeps up thinking like we keep walking thinking to cut across the stream and the
intensity of walking that feels purposeful means to means and breathing is a pattern of circles.
When without time focuses on the hole in the den and sleep in our breathing. When without time
focuses on our breathing. Lucas keeps up. The metallic diner where in the parking lot Lucas
opens the door is the drivers seat is the inside that smells of after school in the mesh seats is
cigarettes.
These Maths Change With Steps in the parking lot to the car or
is dodging thicket briar is Longaberger basket briar wire cylinders or now staring at the
sky and Lucas in the diner just wants to go home. Just tired, he said, and we walked into the
parking lot looking at the sky on our way to the Tercel.
Fallen trees and branches, wires like garden netting and Susans hair scratching from her
hood, her hair always in a braid and smells like that perfume smells clean like flowers crushed in
vodka (that John drinks, the stolen bottle from his kitchen he might not return [the bottle] but
keep it hidden in the woods beneath a rotting log). The lights from houses and streets from the
city waver is distance. The straight streets have streetlights and traffic patterns, traffic lights that
change and porch lights unzipping the grid with a distance index and a thumb. Then her secrets,
the waitress, that the shape of her secrets is her sex, her clothes shaped over her sex, why she
wears her blonde hair always in a braid and smells like that perfume smells clean like flowers
crushed in vodka (that John drinks, the stolen bottle from his kitchen he might not return [the
bottle] but keep it hidden in the woods).
But accustomed to the perfume that smells like flowers crushed in vodka clean and know
its the waitress.
The trail reminds me of a neck, a long neck
like wind in my lungs,
the trail reminds me of a neck, a long neck, when the quickness fades fast, reminds me of the tapslapping
of squirrels up the poplars, and everyone wants to leave for something else, something
quicker with fewer details and not thinking the souvenir shop employees dont care selling
jewelry and postcards and books no one would ever buy except in souvenir shops.
This, like wind in my lungs.
Maybe Susan smokes cigarettes which comfort. Never with anyone other than herself.
Maybe her parents let her smoke cigarettes out the window of her bedroom and on the back
porch where neighbors wont see as likely and she could smoke cigarettes around me and
comfort me in the smoke that is our secrets, our smoke or in my touching the hood of her
sweatshirt and telling her her hair is like the ribcages of trees scratching over the path that she is
so soft to the tips of my fingers slowly touching, like I wanted to touch Johns mothers arm
when I saw her picking up around the house.

The pinpoint goes away but leaves with a blunting for sleeping. A rough, rough leather
boot that weighs thick like drowning.
Nothing moves.
Jesses gone when we get there when Marco runs from yelling Polo scared as heavy
shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhswiftly is through the cornhusk rows through as if a soft hum of machinery, a
pounding in his head screams, Fast! to the sharp paper-cut rashes from cornhushhhhhks well
above our heads against our faces necks arms legs weave and trip-fall the rows of corn stopping
the hands into the dirt is I kneel down listening in the now silence to think I might have heard
something behind.
Stars in a clear night sky.
Its quiet.
Ive lost Lucas somewhere. Somewhere.
Try to hold my breath listen is my heartbeat through my ribs silence but my out of breath
but a subtle cough gasping for itching arms from the cornstalks wakes the quiet and wipe the dirt
sweated off my face with my shirt. My heartbeat through my ribs like a kid at Community Pool
could see my chest, my heartbeat through my ribs remember the pool as a kid bone-thin with
bloodshot eyes when the baseball coach told us wed sit on the bench the whole game if we
showed up with chlorine eyes: Marco!
Run first! shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh before, Polo, coughed through the straight rows
jumping between falling over stalks on my side tripping at our feet to loose dirt and clumps
where stalks and scared laughing bruised charlie horse jaws clenched by this Marco trip fall
wrists and elbows in Jesse there yelling freakish laughing jumping on me through the stalks into
the dirt with, Uhhff, but then scared where we cant see nothing on the ground in tight rows
catching our breath where corn thinks suddenly of the cops to tell Jesse of the fingerprints, the
fingerprints on the bottles and pretend prairie-dog-necks vigilance sees white beams flashlights
from the golf carts and worry about if the cops have heard. No clue where Lucas is is thinking is
hes been caught and start laughing is on my hand on my forehead dirtied with Jesse laughs
suddenly loudly so we hear him and quiet.

Lucas whispers, Guys? Tory? The hell are you? from somewhere within the stalks.
Makes walking intense purposeful means, walking through cornfields and the backroads
along the cornfields, like boys in Stand by Me jump into back roadside cornfields every headlight
thinking cops still looking til Lucas falling one hundred degrees overextending his wrist left knee
and shin bleeding take cornfields along the road holding Lucas on either side under armpits who
says, Fuck it I can walk, and shrugs limping like hes mad.
Jesse says we could navigate pointing skywards our way by the stars but if we sleep here
we could find our way in the morning. Thats when the stars remind me. I think of the hole in the
den and wonder if its still there, if Johns there and the hole in the den.
Spring 2015
Maxwell Gontarek
BY A DEERPRINT
We wake up and, in the lumps of coal in our hands,
black ferns are unrolling.
I saw him dancing through rows,
when the toilet running sounds like cicadas
for just long enough that these worlds,
in terms of their gradients, were never joined.
She smiled in the oval of his pose,
it was a miracle wasnt it those who walk
let loose their wilting on unlit floors,
and those who cant dance just the same.
Spring 2015
Maureen Mulhern
Dust Mites
Beneath our sleep

A grand resort
Hijinks
In the mattress
Pillows sheets
With mouthparts
Agape
For sloughed skin
They tumble over
Each other a fandango
To scale
Our dander
Rabbit Rabbit
The foot slips down

Through the shape-shifters spine
Good luck
Keychain
Pocket-sunk amulet
Hoodoo fighter
At the bottom of a mojo
Or clustered
Bright red
Green yellow orange
In the clear belly
Of a vending machine
*
Bones crack
As skin is pried
And pelts flattened
To be sewn next to that
Of a brothers brothers brother
For warmth
*
The kits hairless

With eyes shut
Turn in their nest
Outside the burrow
Their mother
Stills the grass
No one hears
As night removes
The colors of things
As she narrows
In the field
Of the owls sight
*
Brooding
In its felt dome
The charmed one
Is pulled out
By the ears
As limp as a sack of grain
Rain
Dark aquiver
The rain is sweet
And heavy
And almost green
Cricket leg green
Refreshing
As after a fever has gone
A voice drones
Into a new Galaxy
How the peonies bend
With drops spiraling
Into swollen
Disheveled faces
Thick necks
Behind their leaves
Shall we cut them now
Or in the sun
The phone is abuzz
With quietness
A drop zone
The rains bring in
Anathema
Truth is
It happens
Tongue on the third rail
It happens
Napalm
On a Zenith
Black and white
Of course
Truth is we knew
We didn't know
It happens
You knew
Something
Of nothing then
Truth is it happens
Vacation
I could hear the flowers

Stretch in tepid violet air
And the slush of rubber boots
On linoleum receding
Winter was curled up
At the windows
As I looked past
The incinerator's
Spray of crystals
Nuzzling the sky
The corpses
Glided by
In the basement
On not too well oiled wheels
Each was covered
With a white sheet
They looked like moving landscapes
Islands in the long corridor
I ran up the five flights
To my desk and placed my thumb
Over a day on the calendar
The shadow of my hand
Fell against two weeks
In the belly of July
Persimmon
When the mourning dove

Looked at me
In a calm daze
From window crash
The clear circuit
Of one gaze to another
Went through the glass
Ive seen that look before
The cat calico and feral
The color of persimmon
Chewed up the living dove
And not too long after
Daffodils emerged
In the tangle
Of guts and feather
Spring 2015
Mark Young
Bechstein's Bat
He has had several
other brushes with
death, but this time
round, the banished
love poet Ovid ceased
to exist at midnight.
Now he has these songs
in his head & an odd
fixation with underpants. Just the ones
that he loves; & really
has no idea why!
The morning defined at half-hour intervals

The Who.
A gardenia. The Who.
Wind chimes from across the road. A gardenia. The Who.
Google news. Wind chimes from across the road. A gardenia. The Who.
Check the pH of the pool. Add stabilizer. Google news. Wind chimes from across the road. A gardenia. The
Who.
Comparison of bird songsthe inherent evil of a crow, the naivety of a dove. Check the pH of the pool. Add
stabilizer. Google news. Wind chimes from across the road. A gardenia. The Who.
California Fire & Life by Don Winslow. Comparison of bird songsthe inherent evil of a crow, the naivety of
a dove. Check the pH of the pool. Add stabilizer. Google news. Wind chimes from across the road. A
gardenia. The Who.
Roast beef, cheese, & mustard on 9-grain bread. California Fire & Life by Don Winslow. Comparison of bird
songsthe inherent evil of a crow, the naivety of a dove. Check the pH of the pool. Add stabilizer. Google
news. Wind chimes from across the road. A gardenia. The Who.
I am giving it up for
free
only $1499
the children
adoption
the family
you
them
no one
the ladies
my lifes true passion
Earth Day
the most part
good
a good reason
something better
a piece of nicotine gum
ChainLove.com
Miley Cyrus
Hitler
another boring afternoon
March
Lent
the year
the Hurricane
another PC
jazz from Louisville
organic ice cream
a new turkey gun
a nun, women, child, or an elderly person
Stuff
rare 12 inch UK boogie
the cause
the alleviation of hunger & poverty
obesity
the return to normalcy
a new that is logical
now
Chopped Cobb Salad

Nothing is safe from the
reach of the Creationists.
Once, at a family luncheon,
he saw rats decapitated
without compensation, their
brains quickly removed &
cortices dissected. Soulless
creatures, therefore the
images able to be later replayed on roadside billboards
as evidence that the flesh
is willing but the mind
is weak. Eyecatching
stuff! It would appear
as if were all rubberneckers on this strange
wonderful road of life.
The Fibonacci ficcione

Populist history has it that the number sequence now named after Leonardo da Pisa aka L. Fibonacci
following his use of it in Liber Abaci to describe the sexual habits of rabbitswas first observed by
mathematicians from India in the arrangement of veins in the trapezius muscles of a rather rare variety of
vulture much studied at the time.
No way to prove itthe bird is now extinct & only skeletons remain. But an alternate hypothesis might be
that the scientists, having wiped out all the birds, then sought, in retrospect, something to justify their
actions. Looked at the numbers. Saw something in them. A sequence to play with.
Contemporary census records that still exist show that there were 987 birds counted & encountered in the
first year, 610 the next, then 377, & after that all the way down to zero. Which is another mathematical
concept we credit the Indians for.
So, one nice sequence, one nice concept. Two birds with one stone. No birds left standing.
Redundant catafalques
A psychic refuge from
the expanding city. The
lines reel on their own.
Edited tracks with disappointing in/outro. The
funeral procession travels
from Westminster Hall.
Hundreds of dervish battle
flags. Looked when she
danced, so perfectly happy.
Recorded music instantly
improves word choice.
Live like you want to live, Baby.

Homeowners are turning to
burning corn in special
stoves. Activists want the
chimp declared a 'person.'
There was a bitter irony in her emigration to England.
The Japanese do not believe
that shopping cures all. That's
why the gods have given us
mystics, Sufis, & Zen masters.
We are all starving now.
The show visits all the
fabulous places where
Victorians liked to spend
their libertines & leisure.
Regular tune-ups of your heating system will cut heating costs.
In proportion to the number of
people affected, the extortion
is asymptotically sharp &
able to be untied very quickly.
This formula is based on the premise of a small man.
The good news is
the items above are
all currently in
your shopping cart.
Are You My Mother?
Spring 2015
Mark Cunningham
[sort]
1903-1904: early development of the chase film: Desperate Poaching Affray; How a French Nobleman Got a
Wife Through the New York Harold Personal Columns: actors fall down a lot. He e-mailed his threat to go
Postal, so we figured he was already running out of steam. Hold you tight like sunshine on a windy daybut
the sun is shining over there, too. I am concentrating: uh is my mantra.
[sort]
I dont know about being a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas, but I like to watch
my DVD of jellyfish while I listen to Brian Eno. The critics said the longer her lists went on, the more listless
they became. The recruits pointed out that it was unnatural to stand up straight in curved space. A blue moon
comes along only once in blue moon. Diseases without symptoms, I mean, show a little spirit. The guy at the
gas station gave us directions to the Lost Highway.
[sort]
Somebody named Midge sounds likeable, but it turns out I didnt like like herpretty weak hypnosis. The
fluorescent tubes reflected in the cafs window made speed lines shooting away from our table, but he said he
was going to sit there and drink his Americano. Now that I think back, I have no idea why I thought anybody
would be interested in my memoirs. Turn out for our Missing in Action Day was lower than expected. When
he said dont believe every voice you hear in your head, I knew right away which one Id start with.
[sort]
We decided that having the seven-year-old shout, That jerk thinks hes going to walk off with our
carcinogens, would jump-start the big chase. The natives werent fooled: they noticed I put the sunlight back
upside down. The inspector drew a chalk outline to show where the cliffs of Dover had been. We vowed again
to throw in the towel and stop polluting the reservoir, but the towels wed already thrown in had absorbed all
the water.
Spring 2015
Madiha Khan
Colonial State of Mind
My mother thinks I should calm down and forget the drones and the dead black boys and the dead brown
children and the laughing white men and she tells me to squint and cover the sides of my eyes cover the
middle of my retinas fog over my eyeballs paint over my glasses so I dont see all the shit blowing up around
me. What's the use of focusing on shit you cant make quiver when you have a four year old with adhd and a
10 year old that is so soft and sweet he absorbs pain like liquor in a swimming pool and a husband whose
love is sometimes like sweet honey mixed with rose petals and it flows and flows even though he doesnt talk
to the sharp messy daughter but sometimes hes darkened Siberia. My fathers depression covers him and
paints his movements when he waves his hands in the air over the steering wheel when he thinks no one
sees when he snaps and blows his coldness through the basement and we all shiver and I havent been home
for almost four months and now that Im here the coldness makes me wants to weep and the warmness of
home honey makes me want to sob and I cant decide which one is stronger medicine.
Mos def told me that math is easy but numbers arent people because they dont have limits and numbers
are the opposite of people so therefore people must have limits and sometimes I see those limits so clearly
and its sad because the farther someone is from reaching their limit the less aware they are of the existence
of their limits and this equals greater happiness because when you see your limits and you see how
impossible it is for humans to move beyond it you just feel down and blue all the time.
Back in the whitest university in Ontario there were days when I would sleep without moving for decades of
hours and in those moments wrapped in the galaxy of my blankets I would contemplate the pain of
separation from family and now Im wrapped in a galaxy of blankets in my family home and Im trying hard
to find out which one is more painful.
Its painful to be self aware painful to know limits its painful to know about drones its painful to know that
theyre all stuck in a mental prison that the tv and the magazines the dead empty laughter built. Its painful
to be full of rage all the time its painful to have anger erode away your intestines its painful to go to a bar
and spend 30 bucks to laugh emptily with more empty people and come back wrap yourself in a galaxy of
blankets and think of sagan riding through the cosmos in the ship that was his mind. You try to console your
soul you try to hold away your awareness and burn it away and cut it out you want to pull away the cancer
that the awareness is metastasizing inside of you but:
You cant cut out cancer of the soul so you take a handful of pink pills and dissolve in your blanket galaxy.
Im a terrorist and i want to tell you my story:
At 5 am when I was 5 years old they came to take my mothers head away and I awoke from my dream in
Windsor Ontario and I ran to the library to look up the definition of terrorism but the pages of the dictionary
were all brown and the words in the dictionary were all black and my hands were wet with tears because I
was hurting inside for my unborn brothers because when they grow up they too will be terrorists.
After the dictionary episode I tried very hard to fog up my glasses. I cracked the lenses and wore masking
tape sticking to my eyelashes and it was fine and it was good because its easy to push away the cancer when
the grass is green in your specific condo backyard plot and there are piles of lays chips and the only coke you
know is the innocent kind and the bad kind is so bad you exhale with scandal and giggle at the filthy dark
druggie doggies in the wintered streets.
The point being is this: I know I am a terrorist because I am full of terror and overtime I try to explain this
terror to other people they all look at me with terror underneath an uncomfortable smile and I smile too
much but my teeth grind behind my closed lips and Im sorry Im sorry I say a thousand sorries for bringing
the terror onto them and quickly they shake their heads the white ones have the quickest most efficient
shakes and then its off. They throw the terror off and move on but Im still a brown pillar of terror stuck to
the salt leaking out from the soul under my soles of feet.
The truth is this: I am happy to be back in Windsor sometimes even though it is painful because family pain
is more bearable than aloneness and lostness pain in the whitest university in ontario.
Didnt someone once ask what happened to there mind? The immigrant sat in a booth in McDonalds. She
was trying to reconcile her future with her present projection and her past expectations and it was very
confusing because and it was very hard to reconcile the airy drifty thoughts and ideas with the cement that
she needed to cement a career so she could pay back her parents and pay back the school and pay back the
government and she saw the wheel of rotating soggy brains all intent on trying to keep their little condo
backyard plot green and she didnt want to join them she wanted to stay in her warm muggy McDonalds
booth and push more chemicals and hormones in her mouth and she wanted to keep her brain safe from the
wheel. Shed kept it safe for so longLIEthe tv ate my brain and the white movies ate away my brain and
the laughter of my white roommate when I asked her why batman was always white ate away my brain but
the flesh was still there it was eaten and full of holes but it was still mostly all there and the wheel was rolling
towards me and it wanted to consume my conscious and it was too late now it was time to tune in and move
in and head down and eyes closed and there goes my mind.
They made me hate my people they made my parents cringe at the word Toronto like it was a curse word
worse than motherfucker well motherfuuuuuuuuuuuuckers Im done with them now Im awake and I
realize that my people are beautiful and they always were. Like salt in the earth we were always there and
they tried to root us out and cover the salt with poison but motherfuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckers dont know we
have genetic immunity a rootfull substantiality an honest lack of awareless depravity. Awareness is in our
blood in our veins and sometimes it takes months sometimes it takes decades sometimes it takes centuries to
awaken it but when it burns our blood sings and we awaken and one day all our blood will wake up and rage
together and then maybe it will be enough.
I took a creative writing class in second year and we would sit in a circle and it was surrounded by pale weak
hands fumbling with rough words and plastic feelings and boring ideas and repetitive thoughts and shit that
was just as empty as the empty souls that moulded them and I know Im a fucking narcissist I know I'm no
fucking better than anybody I know I think I'm special but I know Im not the first brown girl to feel this way
but the rage sometimes makes my glasses fog over and I feel like I am my own fucked up galaxy and in that
galaxy I am a queen and the queen is angry and all these other fuckers are too empty to understand why.
Terrorist terrorist go back to your country go back to collect the blood you paid with go back and bomb your
own kind terrorist terrorist dont forget your rags and grenades and medical degrees and head rags but leave
your cool henna and your tinkly sparkly hip dancey thing leave your cool exotic clothes and your dope ass
bindis and let the white girls rock that shit because they make it work their skin makes it pop and terrorist
please just fuck off.
The sunshine shines down on soldiers too but does it absorb into their skin the same way or does it just sit
there and rot because its impossible to penetrate through the million layers of targeted malicious
consciously unconscious hypocrisy?
Im sorry im sorry im sorry im sorry i dont think there are enough sorries to make up for a lifetime of being
an angry brown bitch.
But even at the worst we are still here Gaza is still there and they will run out of breath but their children will
take their place and when they run out of breath their childrens children will multiply and they will still be
there and my breath it small and it cant make a wall quiver or a spine dimple or a awaken a blind mans
wrinkles but my voice is still here and their voices are still over there and there is blood is burning and their
children will be born with boiling blood in their veins and maybe all their breaths will join to make the salt
from the earth rise and turn over and start a new generation of momentum.
Allah allah allah i dont think there are enough pages left in the world to make white people feel comfortable
because now when I speak your name before taking a patho midterm they think rags and blown up bodies
and I think sunshine that sings and speaks through your blood and salam to my right and salam to my left
and salam to my sisters in the east and salam to brothers in the west and may Allah pour down blessings on
us like the Delhi monsoon in july.
The freedom in my breath is tainted and the fact of the fucking matter is this: back in my native land I am a
stranger and here in my hereness land I am a deceiver and if god is not a deceiver than why did create me?
I cant maintain long periods of sadness for very long. Sometimes I have to laugh it off but dont you fucking
dare think Im laughing with my oppressorsI am smiling to stop myself from ripping out their faces. I dont
care I dont care I dont care a few more months of repetition and a few more weeks in a green haze and
maybe i can keep myself all inside and thank god its so hard for a fucked up brown girl to get large
quantities of oxy in Canada because if i had enough oxy then I would just remain in a heavily sedated
bluntly aggravated state of denial.
Fuck fuck fuck this is the I dont give a shit phase this is the Im fresh dope desi as hell and Im not going to
stop trying to unscrew my head and Ill play by their rules in the jungle but ill spit in their faces with a smile
and Ill twirl my bangles and blow hindi reefer smoke in their faces and bow down to the khan bitches.
Greatest comedy in the world: decolonizing my insides and failing because insides are inherently effected by
the environment that the outside is incubated in so fuck the soul and body being separate. How can I
decolonize my soul without first decolonizing my body? Explain that to me and maybe Ill sleep for a few
hours this afternoon
In 6 more days it will be 2015 and this is what I will do when I return for a second dosage of the whitest
university in all of ontario: I will stop apologizing for the blood leaking out of my mouth for all the times I
bite down on my tongue so hard I almost choke to keep myself from letting the distaste spew out the corners
of my mouth because damn existing there is like living in a perpetual state of argument with an invisible
bodiless pale existence and sometimes I think Ill never win.
Fuckthatonedayillmakethemsee and even if its just one sad lonely desi soul that I make see itll be one more
aware body in the collective garbage-soul of the whitest university in all of ontario and NO I am not sorry
anymore.
A message to all the sad desis out there: try cipralex. Really. I know most of you lived with chronically
depressed nanis or abus and they just swallowed back their lack of serotonin and went on with it but you
dont have to let the sadness erode your insides like them just because a chemical imbalance in your brain
makes you see everything in ashy blues and greys.
A message to all the happy desis out there: I aspire to your state of mind and at the same time I dont think
its possible for me to go backwards anymore so I really hope that state exists in the future unless its a circle
in which case it doesnt really matter does it?
Black Americans are literally the strongest people. What those monsters did to them was like an
excruciating, concentrated form of colonization: it was calculated colonial alienation and I am forever in awe
at the capacity for forgiveness and survival in my brothers and sisters from Africa.
I like to wear dark lipstick with no other makeup and with all my hair pulled back so you can focus on the
singular ugliness of my face and in that floodlight focus it is very easy to see the hairs on my upper lips and
pudginess on the right side of my face and the dozen different shades of toned down melanin and it makes
me glad when a guy makes a face at me from the tim hortons line because it makes it so easy to identify the
soulless from the soulful .
IM A MOTHERFUCKIN WORD FIEND AND IM A SUCKER FOR GOOD LINGUAL ABILITY AND THE
BEAT OF THE DHARMAS AND THE SHANTIS LEADS ME TO CALL UP THE MASTERS OF PAKISTAN
LAYING DOWN INSIDE ME THE HIGH HIGH HIGH SMILE OF MOHAMMED ALI JINNAH INSPIRES
ME AND I DANCE TO THE BEAT OF THE PARTITION OVER HIS DAZZLING COFFIN AND I AM
HYPNOTIZED AND THEY ARE HYPNOTIZED AND THEY GO ON ON ON ON ON AND I CANT STOP
BECAUSE INDIA CLAPS AND SCREAMS FOR ME TO GO ON ON ON ON ON ON ON AND I AM A PAKI
BUT THEY STILL THROW ROSES AT ME AND I DONT NOTICE THEYRE COVERED IN BLOOD
BECAUSE THE BLOOD CONTAINS WEED AND I DONT MEAN TO DRAG THIS ON ON ON ON AND
BUT COME ON THATS TOOOOOOO WEAK YOU HAVE TO DO BETTER THAN THAT TO DESTROY
ME.
I seriously attempted once to lose my virginity and allah must have been especially bored that day because it
wasnt an absolute disaster. I went usmaans apartment where he lived with four other desi boys but first we
stopped to buy shrooms and haram pepperoni taquitos from 7/11 and I was so scared sitting on the couch that
I couldn't roll a joint and one of his tired desi boyz had to do it. Then he played some fifa shit on a biiiiiig tv
and we got stoned while they played kendrick lamar on the big speakers taped to the side of the tv and I
knew he was waiting for me to do something but I smoked too much and I couldt stop my leg from shaking
and I could see his bedroom from the corner of my eyes and he could see that I could see and I could see that
he was also fidgeting and I smiled really big suddenly because I saw how easy it would be to stand up and
fuck him in the bedroom that I saw from the corner of my eyes but i waited until all the kendrick songs ran
out and I made him walk me home and that was the end to that attempt (but Im sure in an alternate
universe I did fuck him and thats okay too because Im still fine either way).
I have never been in love but thats a lie because you can be in love with the smell of trees at 5am on a cloudy
windsor morning and you can be in love with the way your best friend says hi when she picks up on your
third ring and you can be in love with the way your four year old brothers hair shines when he doesnt know
youre looking at him and you can be in love with the strength of your desi parents who travelled halfway
across a planet to a land that makes them feel broken sometimes in the exotic foods aisle of the supermarket
but they smile and feed you daal chawaal and all that love is fills you up but they never tell you that. They
make you think youre an empty vessel unless you have specific lunar blue moon love and whos to say that
that love better becasue I feel fine about it now that I realize this misunderstanding.
Setting is this: there is a storm playing coyly outside of the red room in which there is a slow party grinding
onwards and the walls are slippery with semen and crushed jolly ranchers and the pre-med girls have shown
by now so the desi boyz are hopped up and the korean rapper in the corner is eyeing everybody with the
whitest eyes and the dopest hands ever. In the middle of the concrete basement floor there is a very slow
fresh progression of drunk heavily medicated dancing happening and in behind the congealed crowd the
cranky med students are trying to brag about how much theyll sell off three pages from their future
prescription pads for and its tempting to go and drop perc with them and it s tempting to sit in a vortex of
self loathing and let the body dissolve in a soft air mist of confusion in a throbbing red basement underneath
a laundromat run by a majestic sikh man and his daughters in the west side of yonge street in Toronto but
the perc is covered in the same semen and sugar thats oozing out of the red walls so I slap the perc away
from the gora boys hand and fall back into the ripped couch and wish i had my blankets so I could sleep
away into my galaxy.
But the gora boy is still staring at me and he has blonde hair and blue eyes and somehow I end up thinking
of hitler and Im perfectly aware of the fucked up synapses in my brain but I cant help what comes into my
head and now that I'm thinking about it I have to leave I have to get away from the gora boy. I sometimes
feel like gora boys look at me just to leech away the melanin from me and leave the soul of me inside even
more exposed and shivering because the melanin is protective to the soul but shhhh.lets keep that a secret
between us people of colour.
I wrote another story the same time last year and it was about listening to nusrat fateh alis music before
getting drunk on secret vodka alone in my bedroom while my parents slept in the room next to me and this
time i dont have vodka and I ran out of weed and I ran out of willingness to move outside of my bed and its
hard just to raise my head sometimes these days because I feel waves of sleep the bad kind of tiredness the
dry eyes and raw throat kind of sleepiness smoothing itself over me and I can hardly stand up anymore I just
want to lay down on the floor and sleep for a week while it rains in windsor and then mama can wake me up
on Friday and drive me back to the whitest university in ontario and I can try and pretend to be awake for
four more months again.
Time to get lucid and linear for a short little moment: time to sound smart and pretend I know what Im
talking about. I dont know a lot and the knowledge (lie!) I have can be maybe put inside a speck of red dust
from the fruits of mars but the little I do have leads me to believe that the things around me are not maybe
even half as decent as they could be. But I can also see the net and iron nails and the crucifixes made from
red marble they have surrounding us that make it so hard to get outside the prison of the hereness and they
got my baba thinking of equity and property power and he wants to own land and build buildings that touch
the sky and his little plots of land make him feel like hes owning some of the hereness but how can you ever
completely own something that they genocided and pillaged and enslaved humans for? All that blood and
flesh that went into conquering all the little plots around the world and they ride through the lands in their
range rovers and throw out patches of grass and market it as freedom/control/ownership/independence and
then they giggle off into the bleeding sunset.
No matter how hard I try I can never write anything without mentioning the detroit river from the windsor
side and I wondered for a long time what my obsession with it was. Last summer i would bike to the bushes
and rocks that lead down into the greengrey part of the river and I would climb down to the slipperiest
lowest rock covered in old mcds french fry boxes and bits of dead fish and foam from the nameless sinister
factories on both sides and I would lie back and think. And fuck it because my thinking would always end
with some tourist cruise motherfucker rolling by with syrupy white pop blasting and vibrating and polluting
the river and I would look up at the sunglassed sunblocked sunburned-ahem-tanned motherfuckers and I
would have to climb back and ride my rusty purple bike back home in muggy windsor summer evening and
there would be a bad taste in my mouth that had nothing to do with the pollution in my river.
Did you notice how i wrote MY river instead of THE river up there?
There is a tinge of narcissism in my ache to create disorder with anything with my words with my eyelash
movements with the curl of disgust in my lips becasue I want them to see me seeing though them and this
exhibition in voyeuristic resistance gives me pleasure makes me feel tingled and heady with differentness.
Hello hello its 12:32 am december 27 here on sunset avenue in windsor ontario and Im dreaming of a
terrorist lover made of metal halide and together we can burn cheap synthetic flags of monstrous nations
together and share a dirty bong before we fuck and he can teach me how to wrap a neon pink hijab around
my head and I can polish his rifle (dick!) for him and together we could try to help all the ground zeros
happening in countries with high percentages of melanin content in their ancestral grounds.
Sometimes I think that the dirtiest filthiest most rotting emotion of all is shame. And is it any wonder that its
built in and ingrained in any colonized nation? Its like a gradual sinister case of a progressing mental
carcinoma and you feel it there but you cant stop it from growing and the more it multiplies the more it
fucks you up and the harder and harder it gets to look your parents in the eyes.
If I loved myself would I consume less drugs? Is that the cure for that hyper-educated self-mediated social
anxiety ridden tremoring fingers running and bustling over rumis fresh words kind of addiction? I recognize
the pakiness in me is beautiful and I even recognize the beautifulness of some of sentences that float into my
mind when Im sandwiched in between 4 and 5 am. But its hard to translate that flitting spastic sort of love
for my ancestors into acceptance of acne and the hairs over my upper lip and grey elbows and the folds of
my stomach folded into by brown skin because the tv makes me feel ill sometimes.
Tripping over words and cunning tools and the nazis in my brains warn me that even though I masquerade
as a lover I'm really a fighter in the soul because the thoughts that are generated inside the walls of my
sacrum are inherently pathetically flawed and yes I mentioned nazis up there and now I feel bad but dont
worry ill just burn them alive in my brain right now hang on a minute shhhhhhhh. Heres what I have so
far: white supremacy is an intoxicating drug the strongest stimulant out there because its already so easy to
hate darkness and colour that when they tell you that it would be better if you just fell into their perfectly
carved masterfully syndicated hyperpolarvortex of propaganda-I mean they do have darwin and watson
and crick and fucking churchill on their sideit would be so easy just to put the down the awareness of your
own systematic oppression for just a little while and relax and let them tell you all the reasons for why youre
fucked upbrothers and sisters its a miracle that we manage to turn away and keep marching on with a
sober mind.
I dont like want to live through the next 6 days here in windsor because I like to have certainty and
acoustically mundane regularity in my home-home routine but now that its about to be changed Im all
sour on the inside and the outside and I keep snapping at my brothers smiles and I keep snapping at my
own self for being so permeable to the outsideness of my surroundings because I thought that I had kind of
reached the point where only my insides and the chemicals in my brain could affect my insides but I guess
you can never truly be free from that absolute external connection.
The acoustics in this room bother me. I spent 15 years trying to cover the curry smell buried deep into my
clothes with bath and body works sprays and lotions and gels because Ii wanted to smell like vanilla because
white girls always reek of vanilla for some reason and now years and years later Ive finally figured out that I
was born with the incense of turmeric in my veins and there is no perfume strong enough on this planet to
cover it up now. This state of mind is of a city full of brown people all with white names and white people
with bindis on their heads and buddhas in their well-lit houses and brown people being afraid to go back to
home-home becasue their brooding son might get thrown in Guantanamo on the way there or the way back
and the white people that take expensive cannon cameras to the slums of Delhi to coo at poverty porn and
use brown bodies as steps to (fake) enlightenment and some deep shit consciousness about humanity and
this state of mind is of the brown bodies that are left behind when the cameras and the white gazes and the
gold coins in cold vanilla hands go back to their well-lit houses in their stolen land and the white people
recline back to go through the pictures in iPhoto and the brown bodies get stepped on by the next busload of
tourists.
How long does it take for an artist to stop being an imposter and start being themselves? Does anyone ever
reach that point or do we just become better imposters the older we get?
Too swift too fresh for this shit too dope too beat for your fucking shit too ill for you racist dreams too full of
life for your talking down gringo ass too young and careless for your columbus (fuckboy) fantasies too smart
too slick for your manipulative gendered micro-aggressive entities too here and too present for your colonial
wet dreams too tuned in too aware to let you walk all over me and Ill apologize to ms.jackson and Ill
apologize to my parents and Ill even apologize to myself and my best friend and Ill apologize to Pakistan
and Istanbul and Leila but Ill never apologize to them (you know the them Im talking about and if you
dont by this point then why the fuck did you bother to get this far?). And now I can maybe smile for a little
while and go to sleep (temporary kind fear not!).
Spring 2015
Linda King
family album
there must be a version of you that leaves goes where no words will reach
your phantom limbs your crooked spine borrowed time invisible
like white on snow a darkness piece by piece
what was the point what was the point you tried to tell the difference
to salvage stars on the telephone wires sounds were words you knew
frantic clutch at straws your knuckles bloodied
and now every day presents its hours its rusty mornings nights refuse to end
untethered organized by fire the shape of memory remains
it is the only thing that will not abandon you
you are the many children those brief childhoods blunting of imperatives
embrace the notion of some safe place it nestles between your ribs
while your small fingers unframe every picture
knocking against language

this silence
goes transparent
chalk
on the sidewalk
nothing
resembles itself
more sad stories

codes to decipher
philosophers on the marquee
the being demons
naming things
into existence
the password
is a simple cave drawing
smudged lines
from a childs inkwell
a history
devoted to mystery
not mercy
all the sub-titles
untranslatable
plaster of Paris
darkness encroaching forms of attention pockets of memory two stages of abandon

easy to blame outside the poem everything saved you vainbegging the dissolve
wave of colours crimes by chance tragedy befriends you dont look down
just wreck and gradual adjustment insert more coins time and history
no worthy days reflect the blood grief stopper loosened past broken
like a missed stitch or that secret knowing of expandable systems
you long for unknowing that blood line damage the evidence
in plaster of Paris meringues terrible dream of mirrors
frame by frame in three dimension cache
of weapons a stone worn smooth
the sky pulled down
to comfort you
with night
Spring 2015
Kyle A. Valenta
Crushin
Courtney takes the quiz and it tells her that shell meet her crush on the beach. Surfs up! A laid-back chica
like you is bound to meet her future BF at the shore! it says. The girl in the photo has red hair. Shes skinny and
she is laughing, all big, white teeth, as she clings to the back of a sporty boy. He is not wearing a shirt. The only time
Courtney ever made it to the beach, she remembers the scrape of sand inside of her suit against her softer parts. She
remembers a floating plastic bag that she thought was a jellyfish. And she remembers actual jellyfish, so many that
the lifeguards cleared the water. The quiz doesnt mention any of that.
She will meet a cutie at the beach. But what she wonders about is how the boy who steals her Rainbow Brite
doll wiry, brown-haired Daniel James McCarthy, who lives next door figures into all of this. Though hes
older than her, theyd always been friends. But somethings changed in both of them. Now, she gets nervous. She
goes quiet. Gets flushed. This, she thinks, is real and live and its definitely a crush.
Daniel James insists that Courtney call him by his first two names even though it seems like a lot of work.
The two-name thing is a recent development. Last summer, whenever theyd played hide and seek in the backyard
or when hed eaten hamburgers with Courtney and her grandmother on their patio he was just Danny. Hes
going into seventh grade at the end of the summer, and shell be in fourth and she wonders what he will make all of
his classmates call him. Like how you can just change your name like that?
Heres how he steals the doll: he comes by to visit Courtneys grandma, to ask if she has any small chores he
can do a lawn that needs mowing, a garage to be swept. He says something like, Oh hey there Mrs. D. I was
noticing that your hostas were being invaded by weeds. I could pull those out for you. Danny knows a weird
amount about plants and flowers and his clothes are always very bright and baggy. Though he never asks for
money, Courtneys grandmother hands him a $20 bill every time. When Danny finishes his task for the day, he
comes back into the house and asks if he can say hello to Courtney, whose room is down a small, carpeted hallway
from the too-cushioned and pillowed living room where Mrs. D watches her soap operas all afternoon. At
Courtneys door, hell stand there, looking like all of his bones are going to fold in on one another and say
something like, Hey there, Courtney. Whatre you doing? Courtney might blush, blink her big, blue eyes, and look
down. She knows what he will ask next. Want to play dolls?
Courtney and Danny would then quietly play with the dolls laid out on her floor, their hands might touch
once or twice and Courtneys stomach will flutter. After those few delicate moments, Danny would grab Rainbow
Brite, pawing at her blonde hair and adjusting her shimmering blue dress. Then, inevitably, hed say, Courtney, I
think her hair would look real good if before revealing some elaborate reason as to why he needs to take
Rainbow Brite with him for a while. Out the kitchen window, at a table with an Oreo between her fingers turning to
mush in milk, Courtney will watch as Danny runs the wide green hill that forms their houses yards, spinning the
doll around by her arms, by her hair, tossing her so high in the air that Courtney worries the Rainbow will get stuck
in the pines. He does it again. He laughs and laughs and laughs.
Rainbow Brite will be gone for hours. Courtney will retreat to her room to play with the other, lesser dolls.
That night, Danny will knock at their door and his mom will be standing over him. His face will be red and hell be
holding Rainbow Brite out at arms length. The mother mutters something about being sorry. Danny doesnt say a
thing.
Its cause he likes you, duh, Jenny says, laying on the floor of Courtneys room, looking like she smells
something awful. Her hair blonde spills all around her like a halo on the deep blue carpet shes a mermaid on the
ocean. Courtney thinks of showing Jenny the quiz from the magazine, believing that somehow its all coming
together, that Danny will finally tell her that he likes her, too. No boy has said that to her yet, the way they did to
Jenny all of the time all of the notes slipped into desks and whispers in the hallway. Courtney moves a Barbies
arm up and down, waving at the parade of toys passing by. She feels hot and leaves the magazine where it is, on the
nightstand. Danny loves you, Jenny says, crooning to a Ken doll in a tuxedo. He totally loves you.
Courtneys belly clenches. Danny could be anywhere, hearing the words spilling out of Jennys big, perfect
mouth. Hes always around their house lately in fact, he could be in the next room right now talking to Mrs. D,
or under Courtneys window snipping shaggy boughs off the hedges. But he is not. In fact he is way off at the back
edge of the yard, peeking over his shoulder and slipping into the woods. Courtney says, Jenny, look, and points
out the window.
We should follow him! Jenny squeals, throwing Ken, half dressed, to the floor. Courtney picks him up,
thinking that if she doesnt answer Jenny, they dont have to do it. Come on! Who wants to stay inside and play
stupid dolls all day anyway? Jenny begs.
No, Courtney mumbles, just above a whisper. We cant do that.
But dont you want to see what hes doing up there? Jenny pretty, golden Jenny says, pointing, and
maybe even jumping up and down.
Jenny! Courtney is surprised by the way this comes out sharp and loud. We cant!
Why?
The woods arent allowed. My grandma says so. And besides, last summer I went up there and Im never
going back. Theres these two boys up there, and one of them is missing teeth. I think theyre high school boys
maybe eighth graders. I dont know. But theyre big and dirty and last summer I heard this sound like buzzing and
screaming coming from up there when I was playing out back and I kept walking and the sounds got closer and
further and closer again and then I saw them just as it all went quiet, she gasps for air. I was hiding in the bushes
and their dirtbikes were on the ground and they were swatting at this birds nest up in a tree of course I know its
a birds nest. Everyone knows that duh! And they kept swinging at it and you could hear the little baby birds just
cheeping away for their mommy and I kept hoping the mommy bird would come back and attack those mean boys
theyre ugly, Jenny. My grandma says they live back behind the woods which, like how can you live behind
woods? But yeah my grandma says they live behind the woods back where the adults are doing drugs. No, the
mommy never came back she just left them there like that, yelling for her, and the boys just kept laughing and
screaming and then one of them knocked it out of the tree and all of the little bodies and twigs and leaves went
flying and the bigger boy sounded like a werewolf and jumped up in the air and I had to run away.
It all spills out of her.
What Courtney doesnt say is that she actually stayed a few minutes longer. That she crouched in the bushes,
and that when the boys big bodies came down and down again, stomping on everything in the clearing, her body
turned inside out and Courtney threw up between her knees. The liquid splashed hot against her legs.
No way, Jenny says, slack-jawed and still looking out the window.
Yes, way, Jenny.
Courtney. I mean they totally could have raped you, Jenny hisses. Courtney isnt sure what this means, but
assumes that she would be dead afterward. Thats dumb, Court. You need to be more careful.
Mrs. D comes to Courtneys door and asks if the two girls would like tuna on toast.
Yes, Mrs. D, Jenny says, like powdered sugar hitting pie. Courtney doesnt get a chance to say a thing.
A few days later, Danny has taken up the task of painting the foundation of Courtneys house. Every day, he
comes inside with white smears across his face. On the third and final day of the paint job, he takes Rainbow Brite
home with him, but this time doesnt bring her back. After two days, Courtney starts to worry. From the narrow
strip of grass between their two houses, Courtney calls up at Dannys window until he finally slides his screen open.
Can I have her back now? she asks.
He looks up at the sky for a moment, as though he is really wondering about the question. Without a word,
he disappears briefly and returns. He hangs his arms and head out of the window, Rainbow Brite dangling from his
bony fingertips.
Youre being a selfish little bitch, Courtney, he spits, then drops the doll. It lands with a thud in the grass
as he slams his screen shut. All around her, heavy summer flowers bob their sleepy heads. Bees dip and hover. A
centipede crawls up the wall of Dannys house, jawing at nothing. Courtneys heart pounds. She snatches the doll
and runs inside.
That night, laying in bed, clutching the doll, hot tears slide over Courtneys freckled cheeks and hit the
pillow. In the yellow glow of a nightlight, she wonders what the girls in her magazines might say. On all of the
pictures of those happy, smiling girls, theres always a little quote like, Never give up on your dreams, or Youre
bigger than all of your haters. But Courtney doesnt know how that can possibly be. Shes never been called a b-i-tc-h before. She didnt think Danny could sound so evil, or look at her like someone fat and friendless. She sees the
faint faces of the band that all her girl classmates like smiling from a poster on the wall.
Courtneys tears are for all of that. And for the fact that they live nowhere near a beach that she feels so
completely alone. In one of Courtneys dreams that night, she sees trees. In another, there are dogs. In one, she
follows Danny into the woods and they stand so close that she can smell something like heat on his neck and old
sugar on his breath.
Summer drags on one week becomes the next and the next. Danny hasnt come by at all. Courtney grows
sick of playing in her room by herself and asks her grandmother if she can use the telephone to call Jenny and invite
her over for a sleepover. Theyll make smores over the stove and set up her small, cartoon-covered tent in the
middle of her bedroom. Maybe if Jenny comes over early enough, Courtney can talk her into to going up in the
woods to spy on Danny. Shes feeling brave lately, and while Danny hasnt come over, Courtneys seen him slipping
in and out of the woods almost every day.
Courtney dials the only number she has memorized besides her own. She says, Hello, Mrs. Thomas. Can I
talk to Jenny? She hears familiar girls voices in the background Jenny, Katie, Hillary and laughter.
Jenny, Mrs Thomas begins saying, then pauses. Courtney hears the sound of a hand being placed over the
receiver and the other end is muffled, then clear again. Jenny isnt here. Im sorry, Courtney.
But I can
Ill tell her you called, dear, Mrs. Thomas says before hanging up. Courtney stands in the kitchen, her legs
locked into place. She presses her fingertips hard into the wall. They turn red, then white, then purple. She feels like
shes been caught passing a note and taken to the front of the classroom and everyones laughing at her. The phone
is an anvil in her hand. She heaves it back up on the wall, standing as tall as she can on her toes.
Out the kitchen window she sees Danny cross the invisible line that separates their yards way up by the
woods. He looks over his shoulder she swears he sees her, she waves but he does not and in a second, hes
gone.
Grandmother dozes on and off. Courtney naps. They eat boxed mac n cheese for dinner, with hot dogs cut
up into it. Night settles in and the phone rings as they clear their plates. Nobody is there. It happens again and again
and again. On the other end, theres never a sound. Except once, when Courtney hears slow, wet breaths.
Rainbow Brite is not even Courtneys favorite doll, but this is ridiculous. Danny took her on Monday and
shes still not home almost a week later. She last saw them together, jumping around out in the yard on Wednesday,
but when she stands under his window now and calls his name up, he just wont answer. Courtneys grandmother
says that the family has probably gone on vacation, but Courtney knows they havent. Shes peered into the cobwebbed windows of their garage, having already thought of this explanation, and their rusting Pontiac is still inside.
Shes even set up her toys on the hill in front of her house to watch all day for any sign of movement or life, but
there has been none.
Shed like to call Jenny.
Shed like to call anyone.
By Friday, Courtney decides that she will walk next door, knock on their front door, and demand Rainbow
Brite back. In her heart shes sure that Danny has done something terrible to the doll in all of this time taken all
of her clothes off, cut her hair, drawn thick, black eyeliner across her eyes. He tried to do that to Courtneys face,
once. Youll be just like the wicked queen, Court, hed said, his lips curling and his eyes wide. But she wouldnt let
him. She knows that asking for the doll back will make him furious, that he might even call her a bad name again,
but he cant have it. Its not his. She finally decides to knock on the McCarthys door, but as she wiggles her foot
into her white sneaker, as her hand curls around the back doors handle, as her thumb hits the lever, she sees Danny
sprinting up the hill to the woods. He does not have Rainbow Brite.
She almost calls out for her grandmother, but does not. A little whimper builds in her chest and her bottom
lip quakes ever so slightly. Now is her chance, she thinks. She could knock on the McCarthys door and tell Dannys
mom that hes stolen her Rainbow Brite. Dannyll be in deep trouble, then. He wont steal her doll ever again. But
instead, Courtney slips out the door and starts climbing the hill past the pear tree, past the willow and the
shivering birch. All of the shade from these big trees begins collapsing across the wide, green expanse and
eventually becomes the woods. Shed sworn shed never go in there again. But she does. Her foot sinks into the
years of matted leaves. Her soft, yellow shirt catches on the thickets of wild blackberry, mosquitos swarm her head,
whining in her ears. The damp smell of cool earth fills her nose. There is a faint whiff of gasoline on the air, too.
Courtney knows that she should turn around. But she does not.
Her heart pounds. She takes slow steps, unsure of exactly which way she should go, not remembering what
leads where. She tries to be as silent as possible. One foot. The next. Narrow paths snake off in so many directions.
Everything towers over her and swallows her whole. At the third fork, she decides to go right. Then left. Then
another right until she hears a faint rustling and the tinkling sound of metal on metal, like the sound her belt makes
when she has to adjust the clasp. With a few more steps, Courtney realizes that she has come to the edge of the
clearing. She knows she has gone too far. She takes two steps back, crouches, and pulls a cluster of leaves apart just
enough to see through.
She sees a dirtbike leaning against a tree.
She sees one of the big boys who live behind the woods leaning back against another tree. His pants are
around his ankles; his right hand pulls up his shirt to reveal a thin trail of dark hair leading down his stomach. Its
matted with sweat. She sees streaks of dirt across his skin. He is looking down and his mouth is loose and dripping.
With his other hand he holds the back of Daniel James McCarthys head Danny, who is on his knees in front of
this boy, with his back to Courtney. The boy from behind the woods pushes himself into Daniel James McCarthys
face over and over. There is the sound of spit on skin.
Courtney wants to scream, but doesnt. Some odd, fluttering noise trickles up her throat and through her
nose. Her body feels tight and loose at the same time. A few tears sting her eyes, and she looks through the bushes
once more. They are kissing, now. They are standing and there are no pants and fingers press into white flesh and
leaves are stuck to the backs of Dannys thighs. She lets the branches snap back into place, and, as if by magic,
floats along the paths that brought her all this way. Invisible clouds of gnats chew at her temples. Its all green. It all
vibrates.
She emerges from the woods into the backyard shadows and out of them to the place on the hill that turns
orange when the sun sets. There are small rips in her clothes. Burdocks are tangled in her hair.
She walks down the hill to Dannys back door. She slides it open. The dog yips, runs towards her, licks her
hand. Mrs. McCarthy is holding herself against the counter, a cigarette hanging from her lip, her whole face turned
down.
What are you doing in here, Courtney? she asks
I want my doll back, she says, holding her breath. Danny took it.
That fucking kid, Mrs. McCarthy growls, before disappearing and returning with the Rainbow Brite. Hes
like a little fucking girl.
Courtney grabs the doll. Its hair smells stale, but she looks the same as she did a week ago, the same as she
always has.
Dannys in the woods, Mrs. McCarthy, Courtney blurts out. Dannys in the woods right now and you
should go find him.
Spring 2015
Kelli Rush
Laundry: Three Poems and One Line

I. Keep me, collar me
Cuff me, collar me, keep me
tattered, splattered,
flung and scattered,
wrung and strung
and stretched and hung.
Me. The sovereign hon.
II. Put the queenie on a horse

Behold her, bring her
wagonloads of sock and towel,
domicile by sack and barrel.
By caravan. With Pete OToole.
Bring Hollywood. Bring Holy Rood.
Bring royal hound and royal horn
and put the queenie on a horse.
Bring ermine pinned with amethyst.
Bring pointy hat, bring fatted goose.
Bring paunchy man who plays the flute
and leaps, in purple tights
and sleeves with poofs.
III. Showered
Now jiggles by,
scrubbed as a pup,
hup as a squirrel
with a boodle in its paw,
pert It:
Boffo, Boinger, Bonus,
where do you fit?
Bingle on off now,
bangle on.
IV. Hamster
The lint ball under the dryer is the missing hamster.
Spring 2015
Kurt Cline
THE CAF LIFE

The fog started covering over
The morning, A man
Holding onto the edge of the earth
Spinning into Casanovaville
Even Voodoo couldnt bring
Her back. Neither will ever be
Any different. Its not a dream
Anymore. Obedient to it
Now they have to go out & live.
Life wont always be this way.
Someday shell go back.
Hell be leaving.
PROGNOSTICATION
A person will come very soon
Hunting for thieves in the south-east
Mtns. Happy as a zoo
In a sheeps nostrils. Falling
Out of aforethought
Into wonder. Hope comes
But once a fortnight. Treasure it!
Remember dear, it was always me
Even when it wasnt. Groping in the dark
On my hands and knees. Until I spotted this
Following me. And so proceeds what was
Already there in the first place.
A remedy awaiting a recipe
Awaiting a whirlwind
& a voice speaking out of it.
Its a longsome road & no one knows
Whats round the bend.
If you follow it far enough
Youll never get to the end.
ON PHILOSOPHY
Its pouring this morning
Of footprints transversing
The double-door
Of the dialectic
Only the lonely know
The locus of control
Between what is
Congealed in matter
Ink splattered
& going on beneath the surface
Disintegrating
On the path
Standing aside
Beyond & within
Fractal indeterminacy
Micro-tiny connectivities
More membrane than boundary
Spiderwebs in your hair
All the psychopathologies flesh is heir to
Gesturing it away over the minarets the cock-a-doodle-doo
As turns the glass face downward in the lusty dawn.
LACUNAE
Hes waiting for the sky to bend, waiting
For the peel to core into tomorrow. She thinks
Having a passport makes the river flow beyond the grass
Whats the sense of blowing yr top? Put the key in the lock
If it doesnt work just jangle it loose
You dont have to bother the door
The writing mind is never closed
Waking up on that daydream.
Thinking where to write where to go?
Somewhere cant wait to go back home
Flats of scenery vastness backwards
Through the pinpoint swiveling sideways
Sidewalk sweat pourin offa his
Heartbeat beating trap door swinging
Condor wings invisible stuffed goose
In a stage-play settles down stoops to ask
A dizzying procession of towns
Through which a man must pass
Along avenues cut to the coreon the run
Or how she got awaythats bad or good
Kinda turns awayslowly as a fugitive
Where did you come from?
When did you return home?
Some women can see & some cant
When you see through them it isnt a clash
World can only stay beautiful by not
Running away overtime in a glass
Great writers keep them
For their personal amusement
Dont they know time
Is for everyone? A good ear
Is better than a good bump
Nothing to do with living
In this life. Thinking where to go
Excited took the world as sane
All of us were soaking it in
Somewhere theres the end of the crossing

Trucks going backwards going
Beep beep beep beep to tell her good fortune
Where to hang out? We take a look
At the traffic outside. Before anyone can
Make room for another dead poet he ends his
Words. She knew. Said remember me.
He was thinking where to go. As if
They were ours we rode around for awhile
Outside the wires in another direction
Theres a lot of things we dont hear about
Wishful glories dont give out good stories
The way to get there is over here. She was
A conversation piece. A night on the World Stage
Had to be careful how you looked at her w/yr eyes
Popping outta yr skull rolling
Down the hardwood gutter of the bar
Put down by the crowd he decided to run away
The new generation believed in different things
Young girls leafed through magazines. A sneeze
Was about to come on. She was keeping him away
From his thoughts. Its a cold rain & might snow
He was thinking maybe shes got to go
The dark stairs she slips to fall into his arms
He could feel it: the night was going to be
Good to him. They laughed
Like they didnt have to pay taxes.
They could see him moving around in the light
Upstairs but never emerging from his demesne
Under the sea. Some of us
Would be glad to live that life.
How many words to figure out what?
How many words is the wind? They met
In a busy street. It nice to meet
Someone other than yourself.
What meanest she though?
Things falleth apart
When love meaneth nothing.
Was she trying to sabotage
His thoughts? Might as well ask

Sunlight to brush against meaning.
When she asked the time the moon came
Another mountain on the other side
So deeply his disguise. Life is changing
& we know what it is. Looking at that Christmas
Schedule for the next seven years. Thinking youre
Prettier than the mirror. Honkytonk woman
Never heard of jazz. Should have left long ago
Should have stayed where he was.
Those long-haired women at the crossroads
They only capture the living. He should have
Gotten off the bus in Monterey
You know youve got to go on alone
This is your home. One road
For now justice a harbor
A remedy awaiting a recipe
Facing insubstantiality
She says she cant make plans
So why worry? Is this really true?
Only a week to go until itll be
One year from today. The use of being free
To think so far out in time crisscrossed with duress
A little forest where the rabbits are plenty. The summer away
From the castle to see the world. Squirming like a salamander
In an insane asylum. Pick up your silver trumpet
The blues arent so bluesy. The summer
Isnt all relaxed. Who cant see
The sun in the day-sky?
People always want their picture
in the paper. The newsroom
Becomes old & death. You wonder
Why they jump? May as well ask
Ask a whiskey drinker about the blues
The cold summer several days thinking
Captain his ships of days wants a crew
People sometimes forget. What can he do?
Mankind burns out. Tomorrow in the afternoon
Youre working understood o face to tell them other than
To take one year at a time. Wisdom to everyone.
The stars round the earth laughs of spring

Playing in the leaves of autumn. Writers
Sit back & write. Its all right. The moon
Is seeing double. Thousands die a day
For the thought of freedom. As for the rest
We dont laugh last & we dont laugh best
But we keep laughing nevertheless
Listening to the echoes of star-light
Stopping in your mind at a bus-stop
She was so there. Out in the night-traffic
Walking in the shades of the rain thinking
To cross over she saw him walking
In the shades of the rain. Across the bridge
On the other side. You never will see it
If you concentrate on life. Stupefaction sunflower
Squeezing your narrow Gaza strip
To go down almost there
Tunnel ahead part in memorial
Listen: nothing
Split double in the fold
Ahead over the verge
Sacrificial traffic horns louder than the summer
Neither shout nor sigh: HOT TARGET
To go down leaf by leaf speeding
FIFTEEN MINUTES AGO OBSOLETE

He was a clown with a frown
She wore her very best gown.
It was a chandelier December
when the bed caved in.
In a dream I wrote a song
bout a woman in Taiwan.
Who said she was a witch
Half in warning, half in jest.
There was aching in my bones.
I remember seeing
Orange construction cones.
Now has been settled once & for all
There are no rules. Think it over
Roses strewn across the sidewalk in Amsterdam
Turn to white swan lilies autumn leaves
& church bells tolling forwho
Shall I say is calling? They go back
Into the past only a little younger
They sings & they dances
& they gets drunk & cries
& she never stops shrieking
As the bottle runs dry
& thought dissolves life
& its sad to say but its goddamned true
That when that river runs dry
You cant remember why
The way you used to carry on
The way you used to do.
There never was any answer given.
The sky is all alike in seeking heaven.
Tiresius has a problem but he doesnt know what
& the Dutch Masters just smoke their cigars.
Scarlet tower tangled

in the thornbushes
& green summer Sun
(with the children
Dead tree with a skull (Alice in the egg
Accordian players a bent-back Rumplestiltskin-on-stilts
Nothing but Blind Lemon Jefferson
Keeping me alive.
Spring 2015
Julia Lynn Rubin
Rabbit Suit
When I look at the sky, I dont see color. The man in the rabbit suit doesnt either. I know this because I
asked him one summer, when the air smelled like burning pavement.
Did you know that all babies are born colorblind? I asked him. When they come out of the hospital
and they look up at the sky for the very first time, they dont see bright blue if its sunny, and they dont see
all the yellows and reds if its a sunrise or a sunset. All they see is a big, empty gray sky.
He thought about this for a moment, or at least it seemed like he was thinking. Its hard to tell when
someones head is encased in a giant rabbit suit.
He wore it every day, no matter the weather, an all-encompassing costume complete with electric
blue fur and wide, plastic eyes that glowed cotton-candy pink. Hed chopped off the paws so his feet and
hands could breathe, and wore dirty sneakers that were covered in grime from the sidewalk scum. One ear
stuck straight up, towering over everyone that passed by his corner, while the other was lopsided and
dangled from his head. Each day he stood at the corner, for no apparent reason, with his lopsided ear and
shaking hands, and sometimes people whispered, but mostly they walked on by like he was merely a
shadow.
It was always hard to tell if he was listening, but that summer day, I knew he was.
Do you see color in the sky? I asked him. He turned his head away, then began to wring his fingers.
I moved closer to inspect them. His nails were encrusted with gunk, and he grunted and turned his head
away from me, his hands shaking. I knew his answer then and there.
When I told Mama and Daddy and my sister this at dinner that evening, Mama interrupted me midsentence. Her face transformed into a web of harsh wrinkles.
Dont talk to that old junkie, she snapped, waving her fork at me. He gives me the willies. Stay
away from him, and what did I tell you about talking to strangers on the street? You get to school, you get
home. End of discussion. Then she made a noise deep in her throat and stabbed her fork into her cod. My
Daddy and sister said it was the most delicious cod theyd ever had, but to me it tasted like gasoline.
Daddy nodded in agreement and scowled for a moment as if he were angry, but when Mama wasnt
looking, his face softened and he gave me a wink.
That night in our room, my sister and I watched the glowing green stickers on our ceiling, like we did
most nights. We liked to pretend it was the sky.
When you look at the sky, do you see color? I asked her.
She shuffled around in her bed. I could tell she was thinking hard.
I dont know, she said, very seriously. Do you, Malaysia?
No, I said. I see emptiness.
She was quiet for a moment.
Emptiness isnt a color, she said, and then rolled over and went to sleep.
*
The first time I cut myself, I was seven. I used Mamas scissors to carve deep lines into my wrists the
way girls in the movies did when they were sad. After I was finished, I sat on the cold bathroom floor,
watching the blood drip, drip, drip into little pools of cherry cough syrup, spoiling the clean white tiles. I
thought about dying, and part of me was so scared that I couldnt breathe, but there was a bigger part sitting
on my chest, telling me this would all end soon, and the pain would all go away.
It wasnt Mama or Daddy that found me, but Lily, my nanny. When she came into the bathroom, her
face blanched and she started sobbing and praying in Spanish, hugging me close as she wiped the blood
away with scratchy dishrags and wrapped my wrists in bandages. I hadnt cut very deep, and I tried to tell
her that I needed to die, but she bundled me in up blankets and drove me to the hospital where nurses with
stenciled eyebrows scowled at us like we were some kind of vermin. They clucked their tongues and asked a
lot of questions, like who Lily was and why I was bleeding, and no one seemed to believe her answers.
Can you tell me your name, sweetheart? the doctor asked me when we were alone in a very cold,
white room. The bright lights hurt my eyes.
Malaysia.
And how old are you?
Im seven.
He nodded and scribble-scrabbled something onto his clipboard. I stared at a poster on the wall that
showed a little boys skin covered in bright red welts, his face twisted in pain. It made my toes curl, and I
wondered why they had pictures like that in a place that was supposed to make you feel better.
Can you tell me what happened to your wrists? he asked me.
I stared at my bandaged arms, the blood having made splotchy stains into the fabric. I needed to, I
said. I needed to cut the bad stuff out.
Mmhm, he said, and he nodded and kept scribble-scrabbling, and deep down in my stomach I felt I
had said something wrong and I started to cry. I blubbered as he brought me tissues and blinked like a big
sleepy giant. I tried to explain that sometimes it felt like my brain was lopsided and didnt work right, and
everything was twisted, and monsters sat on my chest and tried to choke me, but I dont think he wrote any
of that down.
They wanted to keep me overnight for an evaluation, a big word that I didnt yet understand. When
Mama and Daddy arrived at the hospital, Mama screamed at Lily and slapped her so hard I thought she
might crumple to the floor, and I never saw my nanny again.
*
My sister once said to me, Malaysia, Daddy has really dark skin, and Mama has really light skin, and
I have in-between skin. Does that make me an Oreo?
I thought about it. Like a cookie?
Yeah, I guess.
I said, Where did you hear this?
She said, At school. These boys in my class told me thats what I was. I believed her explanation,
because you learn everything silly at school, and you also learn important things, but its really all a matter of
sorting out the silly from the serious.
I said, I dont think so, because Oreos taste like dirt, and youre sweet. So I dont think youre an
Oreo, and she smiled so big that I could see her back teeth.
The next morning on my way to school, I asked the man in the rabbit suit if he liked Oreos, but he
just rubbed his hands together very fast, like he was freezing.
In class, I tried get Robbies opinion, but as usual he had none, so I just switched subjects, like I
always did.
Did you hear about the little boy whose Mama put him in the freezer? I asked him. I poked him in
the back with my pencil, and he turned to give me a look. His face reminded me of dough, chalky and pudgy.
He had little pimples forming on his chin and hot breath that smelled like pizza.
Thats disgusting, Malaysia, he whispered, and turned back to his workbook. I hated workbooks,
especially the ones we were doing now on the United States. We had to read a paragraph about each state
and then copy the sentence, word for word, and at the end, color in the state wed written about on a
separate map with the same color as the paper in the workbook. It made my brain feel gooey. I hated
summer school.
I poked him again, harder. She was from two counties over, and when they found him, his eyes were
wide like a dead fish. Like this. I showed him, and he turned away and shook his head. He wasnt dead, but
nearly. He had hypothermia and went into a coma at the hospital for two days.
Leave me alone, Malaysia, Robbie said.
I looked over at the clock, which had barely budged, and then at all the other kids. Some were talking
and laughing while Ms. Lemon tried to shush them, and some were quietly writing in their workbooks,
concentrating hard. I thought all of them looked very silly.
I turned back to my workbook. Today we were copying a paragraph about Alabama, where we lived,
and the capital and when it became a state and how many people lived here when it was founded. I tried to
form the words on paper, but after a while they blurred together and my hand felt heavy and hard to move,
so I tore out a page and started folding it over and under like an accordion.
Robbie, did you know that Jupiter has 63 moons? I asked. Can you imagine? We only have one
little moon, and its so bright and white in the sky, but what if there were 63 moons up there, all over like big
polka dots? Isnt that crazy? And no one knew the moons were there until the 70s, even though they always
were, but they didnt matter until we knew they were.
I waited for him to say something, but Robbie just grunted.
Robbie, did you know that all babies are born colorblind? When they come out of the hospital and
they look up at the sky for the very first time, they dont see bright blue if its sunny, and they dont see all the
yellows and reds if its a sunrise or a sunset, they just see gray. Big, empty gray sky.
Robbie turned to me and said, Gosh, shut up, Malaysia, Im trying to learn.
I shrugged and went back to making my paper accordion. By the end of History, I had ripped out ten
pages and made twenty of them.
Ms. Lemon came over to my desk, and I heard her breath catch in her delicate throat. She rested her
hand on my shoulder, so lightly it was like she had tickled me. Malaysia, what are you doing? she asked.
I thought maybe she was angry, maybe she was going to lecture me, but when I looked up into her
facewhich was very, very soft and prettyshe just looked scared. All of the teachers looked at me that way
after I was hospitalized.
That night at dinner, Mama and Daddy were arguing over electric bills and the lawn mower and the
living room furniture. Mama was waving her arms around and making a big fuss. Daddy was calm and
powerful like a stone, his deep voice never wavering.
I put down my fork. We should write to Dr. Phil, I said. Maybe he can fix us.
Everyone went silent and turned to stare at me. Mamas face contorted into a grimace, her lips
pressed together so tight I thought she might pop. She looked like she was going to slap me, but instead she
punched the table so hard her hand turned purple, like a plum. Daddy said that maybe she should slow
down on the wine, and she had to leave the room for a moment. When she came back, her make-up was
smudged, and Daddy just smiled at us like nothing was wrong.
Finish your dinner, girls, he said.
It was then I remembered to give them my permission slip for tomorrows field trip. Mama took one
look at it and immediately tossed it aside, saying to Daddy, You handle this, and stormed into her room,
slamming the door so loudly the China plates on the wall rattled. Daddy waited until it was quiet and then
began examining the permission slip, but I could tell he was just pretending to be thoughtful, and I knew
that hed already made up his mind.
You know, he said to me. This could be a really good learning experience for you, Malay. We can
talk about it when its over.
I wasnt sure what he meant. Maybe the man in the rabbit suit would know.
*
Today were going to visit a very special, historic site, Ms. Lemon said the day of the field trip. Her
lemon-colored hair was tied back in a bun that made me think of sweet danishes. Its called a plantation,
something weve been learning a lot about this summer.
On the chalkboard she drew a big house with pretty shutters and balconies, and then added in
shrubbery and little wooden houses in the corner which looked run-down and cramped. She explained that
the little houses were used to house the slaves who worked and worked while the men inside the big house
sipped lemonade and made big bags of money from all of their hard labor. That was a plantation, she said,
and it was where we were going to have an exciting field trip and see first-hand how everything had worked.
Does everyone have their permission slips? she asked.
Yes, everyone said in unison, their voices blurring into a dull buzz.
I raised my hand and spoke before she called on me. Ms. Lemon, my Daddy signed it but I could tell
my Mama wasnt sure if I should go. Is that OK?
Everyone snickered and began whispering. I heard Robbie groan. Ms. Lemons face fell for a moment
before she broke in to her usual big, sunny smile. Yes, thats fine, Malaysia. Please hand it over so I can look
at it. Oh look, everythings just right.
I wanted to tell her that I could see she was lying by the way she moved her eyes.
*
It was hot outside, so hot I could feel the heat sticking to my skin. We had taken a special charter bus
to the plantation, passing golden cornfields and rickety little shops selling fireworks and sweet tea.
There, there it is, everyone, Ms. Lemon said. Theres the plantation.
Everyone huddled to the window to look, and someone pushed past me in my window seat for a
better view, sticking his nose against the glass, his legs pressed into mine like I wasnt even there. When we
finally stepped outside into the muggy Alabama air and saw the big beautiful white house with the columns
and fountain and dirt pathway, something inside of my brain felt like it was breaking. I looked around at
everyone else, to see if they had felt that same snap in their heads, but they all looked excited and were
taking photos, chatting among themselves. No one spoke to me. No one ever did.
Our tour guide had big teeth and an even bigger smile. He wore a costume like the ones people wore
back in the 1800s, and showed us through the gardens and the fields, and the slave quarters, where people
had lived in horrendous conditions, baking together in the heat, bruised and beaten. People snapped photos
of each other in front of the quarters with big bright smiles on their faces, and Ms. Lemon helped them take
a few. Then we talked through the rooms in the big house, which were roped off so we could only glance at
all of the decorations inside. It was like looking into a giant dollhouse, and I started feeling dizzy, like
everything had gotten very big and very small again.
Thats when I saw the picture. It was in black and white, and of a little girl like me, not very dark and
not very light, but somewhere in the middle. An Oreo cookie. She was standing next to a white man in a
fancy suit and hat, his hand clamped around her shoulder as he stared into the camera. Her face was hard
like a stone, because people never smiled in old pictures. I thought it must have been very sad in those times,
and I raised my hand and told the tour guide so.
Some of the kids laughed at me, and Robbie just shook his head like I had embarrassed him.
The tour guide opened and closed his mouth again, and I could tell Id caught him off-guard.
Well, he said. Thats a very interesting point, actually. And thats a very interesting picture. What
was your name, dear?
Malaysia, I said.
More kids started laughing and saying things, trying to making my name rhyme with dirty words, but
they couldnt, because my name was already dirty.
The tour guide started talking as if he couldnt hear their words and whispers, about civil rights and
special relationships that sometimes happened between slaves and their masters. Ms. Lemon started getting
fidgety at those words, her mouth twitching around as she tried to keep her bright smile in place. I looked to
Robbie, but he was staring at his shoelaces and wouldnt meet my eye.
I looked back at the picture, at the little girl who was the same color as me and my sister, and finally
that thing in my brain fully snapped, and I could feel my classmates taunting me, hear the way the tour
guide man was moving his lips as if he were deaf, and feel Ms. Lemons smile filling my head until
everything got so bright with white light I felt the sky was going to shatter.
Ms. Lemon had started breathing my name, all hushed and gentle, but it was too late.
I grabbed the picture off the wall and held it above my head. Everyone stopped and stared at me,
finally silenced, before I threw it to the ground so hard it smashed into a million pieces.
*
Red velvet cake, I said to the man in the rabbit suit. You know, its just chocolate cake dyed red
with cream cheese frosting, and yet everyone raves about it as if its some groundbreaking invention. Isnt
that absurd?
He grunted and twisted his neck around, the lopsided ear flopping against his fur. It was getting
cooler, the hot months melting into fall, and his other ear, the one that had stood straight up, was beginning
to flop over as well. His suit was even grimier than Id seen it last.
They pulled me out of summer school, I told him, feeling the hot tears in my eyes. I dont care. I
dont care about anything or anyone. I want to die. They want me to die too, but they wont say it, and I wish
they would let me.
He cocked his rabbit head at me and wrung his fingers. They were also dirtier than the last time Id
seen them. I could feel the stares of people passing by his cornerour cornerbut they didnt concern me. I
was free now, and it would all be over soon.
I reached out for his callused hand with its yellowed fingernails, and he held mine, gripping it tightly,
his palm warm to the touch against my own. We stood like that for a while, and the sky was gray and had no
color, only emptiness, only words that meant nothing and faces that looked like little Oreos with hard faces,
and lopsided brains and shadow corners, and plantations where Mamas drank too much wine and ate cod
that tasted like burning pavement and blood.
I looked into the big plastic pink eyes of the man in the rabbit suit, and he nodded, and his grip on my
hand grew tighter, and I thought this must be what love felt like, when you both had the same thought as
another.
Spring 2015
Josh Smith
Unprettier
Your heroes are dead.
Meteorites didnt kill them,
sniper bullets didnt fall them.
You killed them.
All of your champions brought down,
victims of mistaken identity.
Because somewhere in time, you became more in love with the idea of a hero,
hopelessly addicted to your perverted concept of what a hero is.
And that is exactly how the devil darkened your door.
You beckoned him in, and let the true monsters poison your home.
What I know, and you forgot, is that evil is pretty.
Candy-coated, saccharine-sweet,
pleasing to the smell, sight and sound.
And you werent content to bathe in evils stark red milk.
As a good cultist, you indoctrinated your children.
You force-fed them models and movie stars,
made demagogues out of demons,
filled their hands with makeup
and taught them to detest true beauty.
True beauty has flaws,
real heroes have scars
and its because of the battles they fight.
When you look into my face,

each scar is one of your children that I have rescued.
Each scar clawed into my skin by you,
fighting to preserve your childs innocence.
Innocence, your other opiate.
Its naivety, and its disgusting.
To keep a child ignorant of the worlds evil is to endanger them.
Whats more its not done for the childs protection,
its done for the parent to vicariously grieve their own lost innocence.
And that is why you hide your children from me,
why you warn your children about me,
why you brand me the villain,
call me predator,
label me an offender.
You know that I will take their innocence from them.
I will wake them up from your halcyon world of illusion
and expose them to evil.
I will do for them what you cannot,
because I am the only true hero left.
With one touch,
I will give them my mark,
scar their face I will make them unprettier.
I, will make them unprettier,
as I have been made unprettier.
Lucky Charms
Life is a bowl of cereal.
You think that youre the milk.
To me, youre just another oat.
Im the marshmallow.
Im what everybody wants.
Demand is created by two things:
quantity and quality,
more specifically, low quantity and high quality.
One will get you to the top,
but only both will keep you there.
You have the quantity, and I the quality.
Biggest difference is,
my numbers will grow,
but your quality never will.
And in the milk you just get soggy,
as I get sweeter.
Spring 2015
POR EXEMPLO
Se cavalos, por exemplo
!um teto, um farolete
!inquietam ento, digamos
!: isso
conta
Se o azul da noite!
inebriante tambm
!conta ento digamos
!: isso
inquieta
FOR EXAMPLE
If horses, for example!
a ceiling, a spotlight!
disturb so we say
!: this
accounts
If the blue of the!
inebriating night also
!counts so we say
!: this
disturbs
PEQUOD
a Herman Melville
Certos navios
no se movem
(presos aos
mastros)
na profuso
do tempo
PEQUOD
for Herman Melville
Some ships
dont move
(attached to
their masts)
in the profusion
of time
PATRULHA
a August Stramm
Devo cobrar
cada naco
misturar-me
com a areia
(ver o vento
aterrizar)
PATROL
for August Stramm
I must charge
every chunk
mix me
with the sand
(see the wind
landing)
ESTUDO DE NEIL
a Edward Weston
Se o olhamos
nunca o vemos
: no vazio
reverbera
se o queremos
como duna
qual um dia
l bem longe
aqui dentro
como um vento
um soneto
em pleno vo
A STUDY OF NEIL
a Edward Weston
If we look at him
we never see him
: in the empty
he gleams
if we want him
as a dune
as a day that
is so far
here inside
like a wind
He is a sonnet
in full flight
Spring 2015
Jordana Meade
Than Since When I Left
THEYRE AT THE SHIPYARD WHERE THE HEAVY CRATES HANG ABOVE

AND ITS QUIET BECAUSE ITS STILL EARLY ON A SUNDAY. THERES THE TABLE TENNIS,
UNTOUCHED. THE SPEAKERS PLAY, DONT BLARE. ITS GOOD TO FEEL THE WATER BREEZE
WITHOUT THEIR GUARD UP, WHICH THEY WEAR AS CHAINMAIL UNDER THEIR DRESS. THE
GARAGE DOORS ARE UP AND ITS DARK BRIGHT DARK BRIGHT DARK BRIGHT. THEY WALK
THROUGH AND ITS PRESENT AND BLUE AND WIDE.
Im leaving for a bit. Everything expands.

Im telling maman Im staying by you, Tula pauses then continues, Im pregnant, she lies. Im taking
care of it.
Anna doesnt believe her, but cares enough to let her go. Or decides to stop caring and just lets her go.
I could go with you, Anna suggests flatly because she feels she should, and then suspects she may actually
want to go. Tula moans as if thinking then returns, no.
They both swallow. Annas fingers tongue at an upright splinter in the table. She squints toward a faraway
cluster of sailboats. There are few fish below. The water is smooth and lazy like marble and they sit,
patiently, savoring these last drops. This familiarity they know they share with no one else, theyve let it run
through their fingers. And now they flex and clench their palms to watch the last bit of wetness evaporate.
After Tula returns they dont see each other again for years, and theyre not connected like this again until
long after but before her second death during the times when theyre surrounded by others drunk on
gossip. Theyll hold onto their past in their back pockets.
IN THIS PART THERES THE BUSH AND THE CLAY AND THE STICKS, AND THERES THE BRIGHT
CITY AND WATER AND THEY NEARLY KISS.
Tula mourned the loss of her first. She mourned profoundly and of course quietlybecause, like teeth lost,
her soul left too nonchalantly. Babies knew, theyd vibrate and point short fingers toward her. Old dogs
would be drawn to and then repelled by her small body, pulling in and skittering out. Shed glide during the
day into dark and slept more while awake.
ME
ON THE BUS
Today is bright. But I can see its not pleasant because its hot and blurred white so everyone stares down for
the world to open up.
Ok, here they are, bumping along almost in unison. Faces pucker and are veiled yellow. Dust puffs in,
bloating the cab and pricking his glasses until theyre opaque, but he doesnt clean them. Hes only four seats
behind her. She doesnt turn around never, not at all, but if she were paying full attention shed hear a
whisper teasing to do so not mine, maybe his the one that left.
Ah, and there it is! The first moment he sees her. Her neck. He sees its dark and young. He sees how it tapers
to fit her shoulders and support her head, which is explicit in its roundness because of her close-cut hair.
After this, years later back in New York years after he tears up at the birth of his granddaughter, even
further after he feels his wifes final breath evaporate beside him he never forgets Tulas silhouette. The last
time it flashes it is its most brilliant: Hes back blanketed in hot, blinded by bright, cooled on his buttocks,
and learning to breathe the muslin of dust. Hes gripped and deafened by her darkness, her softness. Hes
then released for the second, final time.
OFF THE BUS

Dry lands have softened into lush. The driver stops the bus and most passengers rustle for their things,
jerking suitcase handles into their bellies, and waddling forward.
Dean steps out and to the side, tugs at his stiff arms, and bends in half not knowing exactly what hes doing.
Then he reads over the cooks instructions and palms the paper back into his pocket. He begins in the
direction as explained and sees, after everyone has peeled off toward some small civilization, hes left behind
her. Tula continues to lead toward thick bush. His eyes are relaxed; the dark shoulders he memorized are
now her body, the whole thing under shapeless clothes.
Before he sees her face for the first time sees how her lips move and how the whites of her eyes slide down
and sorrowful when she walks him through our death, he trails behind her across the dirt.
scrape scrapescrape scrape scrapescrape
She hears his steps on the offbeat scrape of her sandal:
scrape scrapescrape scrape scrapescrape
She stops:
scrape scrape scrape scrape
scrape
scrape
scrape
scccrrraaaape as Dean steps up to meet the other side of her head.
THE BUSH
They enter. Its thickness snaps back to test their commitment. It becomes sloppy but their efforts are shortly
rewarded with a single rock in the middle of a clearing. Its large. When Dean lays his back along it, his
hands clasped behind his head, the rock splays out wider and longer beneath him. Tula sits beside him
reserved. Theyre quiet and not knowing how else to begin, they start where they first died.
TULA
I guess I can tell you about the pressure and panting on my neck. I remember it was wet and then I realized it
passed through but I remained. I was existing but only behind a gasp. Then one day at the market I met the
merchant. He was braiding a bracelet and without looking up he asked what it was I looking for. I told him
Id lost something important and hadnt slept. I told him I wasnt sure if I should look for it. He spoke calm
and steadily, like he was humming his favorite song, and told me about this rock and the eldest woman. I
bought a bus ticket that afternoon.
ME
The breath and pressure forced me out. I guess its difficult to feel nothing and see her miss me. Its difficult
not to miss the feeling of longing. Shes so much closer to me now than since when I left.
DEAN:
Some people saw. I saw them not want to believe when I got up. They hesitated and then walked away
offended by the burden of now having to delete the scene from their memory over their lifetime.
I never talked about it, not for months. Cheryl, thats my wife, noticed the distance and planned a date
thinking it was her and our relationship. I felt bad for her. But there was nothing I could do; I existed a step
away from the world in front of me.
She made reservations at this exotic African restaurant. So whatever, I went. And when I walked in, the
world stopped. Everyone the hostess, the server, the cooks, the one upper class African family actually
dining all of them fixated on me. Cheryl didnt notice. We sat and I was deaf through the entire meal. As
we were curbside hailing a cab to leave I lost it. I burst back through the entrance crashing glasses against
loose forks. I darted about not sure where I was going, and then the cook came out. He pulled me by my shirt
and into a back hallway. He kept his face close to mine and allowed me to heave air into it. I spat, I know you
know. I know you know what Im missing. You know what Im looking for! He just stared back at me then
slowly loosened his grip on my shirt.
I walked back to the entrance I ran through, defeated. I walked away from all of them. From then on,
concentration was impossible. My patients, my daughters, and my wife were nothing more than a fleshy
obligation. Id have dreams that it returned. Maybe they were nightmares. Im not sure. And then there were
parts of my skin that seared, so I finally went back to the restaurant.
It was maybe an hour before they opened and they were folding napkins. I was barely through the door
when they all dropped what they were doing and swooped me up and through the back hallway into a tiny
office. It was almost elegant, like a practiced dance.
They sat me down on a metal stool and packed in around me. Finally the wall of bodies broke and let the
young cook through. He was probably older than he looked. He leaned low against the wall so he wasnt too
tall as I sat. He spoke direct and clear. Like your merchant, he told me about the eldest of ladies, the dry and
then the lush, this fucking rock in the middle of it. None of it made sense. It was this rod he fed me and I
swallowed it inch by inch though my ribs. It was painful but I never stopped swallowing. And then he was
done. Good luck, and said, which almost sounded joyful in his accent. I might have winced. We shook
hands, he gave me a paper with instructions, and then the wall let him back through and out.
ME
They lay near each other for some time, their arm hairs wiggling from the coolness and their closeness. Then
they sat up and continued on. As the young cook and merchant instructed, they eventually reach another
clearing. The village is before them; its stillness. They walk past a small campfire and spot an older man.
Hes sitting on a log tending to a goat and doesnt look up as they approach.
Then, welcome back, he says.
###
Its good to see you two again, the eldest of the ladies says. Its rare we get a visit in the bush. They sit on
the handmade porch of a plain handmade cabin. Dean and Tula dont speak waiting eagerly for more.
The eldest of the ladies waits as well. Then her face twists. She feels sorry for the two the way one would a
just-born puppy. You must know this not your first time, you two together, she scoffed behind a smile.
Youve met, loved, warred, watched each other waste away in horror and then also in delight, passed each
other only once, shared children and it all, and I mean all of it, wont be the last. Ever. Fredrick over there
orchestrated your latest request to have a baby. They quickly shoot their attention to Fredrick. Hes still
with his goat, agitated and fussing with it now. They turn back to the eldest of the ladies who can see theyre
frantic for more. She continues.
This is slightly different. This is the first time youre both in the bush continuing to live ah, this is where
she mentions meafter theyve left you. But I guess theyll find a way to bring you two together, as thats
what you want, even for a moment.
If thats what we want, Dean asks.
Yes, the eldest lady returns flatly. She sees their eyes wide and even more desperate. She continues
casually. Well there are the parts that no one knows. Me, the other ladies, Fredrick, the ones that stay inside
you, all of us, were here, I guess were here as support. But its all you not me. Not us here. The deepest parts
of yourself will reveal itself somehow. Make sense?
With Fredrick in the lead, they step out of the cool and the still and tread back through the bush. The same
route feels too easy now that theyre heading out. Dean is behind Tula and helps her crack away thicker
brush. Now at the road Fredrick gives a nod toward a direction and then turns back leaving the two as they
start their return back to the hot and the bright.
Spring 2015
John Rigney
Avant-Garde: A Manifesto*
The avant-garde doesnt ask for permission.
It does not have a structure, a roster or an application form.
The poetry of the avant-garde has sources but no footnotes.
It seeks no justification in academic hallways.
There are no blessings in dissertations.
And no one is saved by criticism except the critic.
The avant-garde is not seeking publication.
The avant-garde is not a synonym for cutting-edge, hip or au-courant.
Avant-garde is not an adjective one can use about oneself.
I am told that the term avant-garde was first used by Olinde Rodrigues
in 1825 to describe the artists duty to lead the way to a new and better humanity.
I cannot verify this, as a translation of the essay is not readily available.
Does your avant-garde lead anyone anywhere
other than to the wine and cheese spread at a well-funded reception?
The avant-garde does not accept honorariums.
The avant-garde does not want a job.
The avant-garde is not a container for empty aesthetic posturing.
The avant-garde lives at the forward edge of history
not on the promontory of stacked-up art objects
held together with the mortar of academic jargon
and made toxic by radioactive, self-congratulating elitist attitudes.
The avant-garde is not a prerequisite for a Fulbright.
The avant-garde has no use for a stipend.
The avant-garde is a reconnaissance force for possibility.
The avant-garde occupies the space between the now and its then
because that is the location where humanity loses sight of its dreams.
If the avant-garde looks anywhere but forward it will be shot in the back of the head,
according to the logic of its foundational metaphor.
When the avant-garde is dead it is given a name and included in an anthology.

The avant-garde is unconcerned with irrelevant chatter.
The avant-garde is unconcerned with courting stability.
The avant-garde is unconcerned with your tenure-track position.
The avant-garde is unconcerned with the avant-garde.
* Disclaimer: I am not now, nor ever have been a member of the avant-garde.
The Dead Cry Out

The dead cry out
in the silence of photographs
which hold them, forever, in their leaving.
On the way to Tahrir Square,
the street cleaner comes
before the dawn of the morning after
and pushes together a neat pile
of pellets, petals, scraps of bloodstained ribbon, a scarf
an ingathering of yesterdays sacrifice
swept up with candy wrappers, lost tickets, cigarette butts
the ordinary refuse of traffic
that are the usual objects of his care.
The street is a place of our forgetting
of dropping things
discarding
throwing away.
The street is a place of our forgetting
of walking by;
it is there to move us, take us out, away.
It is a crime to usurp the street for remembering
for stopping, pausing,
standing still, so as to say
I know that you were here,
and I still miss you.
To lay flowers on the street
is a capital offense.
In the photograph, I see you

held in the arms of one who can not say goodbye.
I hear you
weeping in the silence of an empty page.
On January 24, 2015, the poet and activist Shaimaa el Sabbagh was murdered by police as she went with a
group of twenty-five others to Tahrir Square to lay a wreath at a memorial for those who died in the uprising
of 2011.
The Language
After Creeley, backwards
The Language
is a mouth
aching, speech
of holes
and words, full
crowd into
mute, unspeaking
anatomies.
Throats, gullets
sites of transit
of air, and intent
muscles
electric impulse
held up
delayed
stopped
on neural-net
express ways jammed
with
desire
and regret
for - to - with
parts of speech
become an emptiness
between us
Love:
I say
Everything
so much
I want
so
but words
are
in
my eyes
my fingertips
and
you
are
not
here.
Words mean so much, so little.

They are holes
to throw the past in
which wont stop growing,
like a weed
They are blunt
instruments
hurtling through
the spaces between our solitudes
at our helpless, mute desires
They hold us
as if mothers and prison wardens
were one and the same:
tenderly and without the possibility of parole.
They are the names of God
secret, potent, unknowable.
They are
battle maps
execution orders
stays
pardons
sentences.
They are struggles,
contentions
unfinished attempts
to connect
elusive, reluctant impossibilities.

They are dreams
fading
along the curve and slant
the shapes, the forms, of letters,
crushed in the grasp of our remembering.
They are surrounded by silences
emptinesses
leaching into intention
leaving only incomplete desires.
They are acts
products of the body
things,
made
of will and air,
blood and muscle.
facts, proof, history.
We try
so hard,
want
so much
to say
so much
and yet
they fail.
Words meant everything.

- Rep. John Lewis, recalling the Selma March, 2015
There is a fire made of words

letter upon letter upon letter
the alphabets of humanity
burning, burning.
Words were prison bars
made of prohibitions and exclusions
of put-downs, pass-overs, cast asides
of excuses and empty promises
of histories written on unwilling skin
of futures whispered into ears that always meant not now
of drive-by disillusionments
sprayed, slow motion, at the walking pace
of a man crossing to the other side of the street.
Words were ropes
thick twines, binds
reminders of arrests, incarcerations delineations
lacerate pronouns of you and them.
Words were a bed
made of straw
gathered from fields by unpaid hands
where fugitive bodies rested
soaked in the brine
of generations of flammable weeping.

burning, burning.
Two words became a match
that started this conflagration:
no more
scratched against the rough surface
of the ugly face of hatred,
blossoming, sulfur hissing
into a flower of crackling refusal.
burning, burning.
The flames are crying out
consuming the air in syllables of elemental desire,
shouting against the silences
which seek to steal our names.

burning and burning and burning
exploding into dictionaries
lexicons
where the definitions
of dignity
of respect
love
opportunity
safety
justice
now
bear
the name
of
everyone.
Zurita
In 1973 they arrested Raul Zurita
on suspicion of subversion against the state.
They threw his poems, his Purgatorio
(indicted as subversions, coded in unbreakable terza rima)
into the sea.
As his pages took on water,
wept ink,
and drowned ,
crying out, sea-silent
their protests mingling with the salt-stained echoes
of Prosperos executive, submersive, order
did Zurita, the poet, the prisoner
as various forms of torture were applied to his body
did Zurita think of Yeats,
who said,
Passive suffering is not a theme for poetry
And, as his body broke,
And as the soldiers laid it on
Did he find
that all suffering
is poetry?
All suffering
is passive:
unwilled, uninvited, unwelcome?
And that safety,

that other , distant shore,
so far from home
from which the sea is not a hiding place for dangerous ideas
that safety can not be found
In struggle, but in letting go
in sinking, silently beneath the surface
That endurance is made not of
fighting
But of doing nothing
Except composing
a poem
Which waits for tomorrows pen and paper?
Spring 2015
Jim Kincaid
NO MISTAKE
Make no mistake, thats what I say.

Me too.
None, not one.
Maybe one.
Yeah, nobodys perfect.
We are.
Well, everybodys human.
Which is not the same thing.
A common error.
Because its not common, doesnt mean its. . . .
Not at all.
Thats more like it.
But one thing has to be made clear.
One thing.
Well, several things, but what everybody thinks is clear isnt.

Its wrong, dead wrong.
Let me say it right out.
Say it loud and clear.
THERE WAS NO ABUSE.
Not only that.
If ever anything was, this was
Maybe the only thing in our lives.
Right.
Right.
And the word is.
You ready for this?
Wait for it.
----------Consensual.
Whys that so hard to understand.
I think its because some dont want to understand.
Thats it.
Yes.
Not hard to understand but they dont want to.
You think?
Yes, so do you.
Yes.
When was it we started?
Long before that nibby Aunt Sarah burst in on us.
Not so much as a howdy-do.
Just shoved her bulbous body through the door.
Into the room.
Didnt seem to focus at first.
You?
No, Aunt Sarah.
How do you know?
I was aware.
Of her?
Yes, werent you?
I was concentrating on you.
You were on top, and thats only natural.
Because you were on the bottom that means you re looking about
the room, thinking of homework, thinking of whether big-ass Aunt Sarah is focussing.
Now, now.
You are going to tell me to keep to the point, not to pretend to be hurt.
Kind of.
Not quite?
The pretending-to-be-hurt is a major turn-on.
Which is not what is needed right now, when were trying to make all this crystal clear, no
mistake.
Not what is needed.
But who cares what is needed, right?
Right.
Well be back.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Picking up where we left off.
Long before Aunt Sarah blew the whistle.
Roused the troops.
Long before that.
We had begun.
Initiated it.
Who was it initiated it?
You.
Yeah, me.
I.
Yeah, you
It was a sunny afternoon in October, after school.

It was Halloween evening, right after trick-or-treat.
Were both right.
Of course.
We were bathing together.
Playing dress-up.
Playing house.
Playing gin rummy.
Before we knew it.
Before you knew it, perhaps. I knew it.
We always knew it.
No mysteries.
No mistake.
There we were.
Naked as jaybirds.
You still had your bra on.
No, you did.
Oh, yeah.
I can remember it as if it were yesterday.
Me too.
But it wasnt
No.
It was long before two-ton Aunt Sarah picked the lock.
Even after that, we didnt slow down.
Parents were flummoxed.
Tried therapy.
Tried denying us privileges.
No desserts for a week.
Tried reasoning.
Where did we think this would lead us?
Good question.
Yes it was.
Still is.
I agree.
And we both know the answer.
We do.
We knew the answer right from the start, my dear sister.
Brother.
We both knew it.
No mistake about that.
Spring 2015
BlazeVOX Interview with Seth Abramson
15 Questions For you to Answer:

Tell me about your book.
Metamericana is a collection of concept-driven texts that
combine original, appropriated, and remixed language. Each
piece is intended as an entirely different conceptual space from
any other, meaning that the book includes a wide range of
language expressions and experiments: everything from the
actual text of a cease-and-desist letter sent to me by Shia
LaBeouf's attorney (long story) to an epic poem comprising
four-word phrases from every song ever released by Taylor
Swift (arranged in the order the songs were released). There's
an actual transcript of the end of the world--a very particular
virtual world that actually existed and had tens of thousands of
inhabitants--as well as an original poem composed exclusively
of phrases that have their own texting acronyms. My hope is
that each page will give the reader a reading experience they
can honestly say they've never before had.
What influenced this book?

In mid-2013 I turned aside from a decade of studying poststructuralism both in and out of the academy and
became a dedicated metamodernist. Metamodernism is a small but growing movement that holds late
poststructuralism to be both a political failure (from the standpoint of a political progressive, at least) as well
as entirely inapt to today's network culture. Metamodernism, as a cultural philosophy, juxtaposes the
idealism of Modernism and the cynicism of postmodernism by promoting exploration of what theorists now
call "informed naivete" in an elevated middle space between the two. Metamodernism offered me a means of
processing the wash of data we all experience every time we go online--specifically by allowing me to treat
others' language and my own as interchangeable rather than in a constant state of contestation.
Metamodernism offers a new framework for such literary techniques as misappropriation, remixing, mashups, conceptual confessionalism, meta-writing, and many others. The results are often as provocatively
strange as poststructuralist writing is, even as they are much more readable and (dare I say) relatable to how
we live now each day in America. My hope is that this book will be at once a fun read and an authentic
performance of how we generally (and I specifically) process language in the Digital Age.
Where does this book fit into your career as a writer?

I think I've been headed in this direction a long time. My second and third poetry collections featured
atmospheric, non-adjectival lyric poems whose atemporality and rhetoric-driven rhythms looked ahead (I
hope) to a time when we needn't choose between writing "self-expressive" first-person verse and indulging a
political and creative dead-end like late-postmodernist "conceptual writing." I've been trying to explore the
middle space between ego-driven and deracinated poetry--and between audience-aware and audienceindifferent poetry--since the mid-2000s, and I think Metamericana is the closest I've come yet to the region
of thought and emotion I'd like most to explore. A former professor once told me that my poems seem intent
on creating "a wormhole between the head and the heart" without having to explore any of the space inbetween, and thus paradoxically end up living almost entirely in that "in-between" space where the work is
neither emotive nor abstract. I feel that's a pretty good summary of where I'm at, or at least where I'd like to
be at.
If you had to convince a friend or colleague to read this book, what might you tell them?
I don't know whether people will like this book or not, but I can say (and I really do mean this to be entirely
separate from the question of reception or even whether the book is any good or not) that very few people
have read a book like this one before. This is a book for which even a quick review of the back cover--which
is a language experiment that turns the notion of the "blurb" on its head--will communicate to most readers
that the author of Metamericana really had little interest in reproducing poetry (or even the "poetry
collection") as it's currently being written.
Tell me about the last literary reading you attended.

A few days ago my wife and I attended a reading put on by graduate students at the University of WisconsinMadison. It was thrilling to see the range of work these students have written in the two years they've been in
Madison: everything from lyric poetry with an abiding interest in Classical Greece to a sort of conversational
and comedic metamodernism. One poet is even writing work we might consider "paramodernist"--a form of
New-New Sincerity that's a return to the first principles of Modernism with full knowledge of the
postmodern and metamodern periods that interceded between the Modernists and the mid-Internet Age.
Anyone who thinks experimental writing is primarily happening on the coasts, or that creative writing in the
academy is still such a provincial premise that all such writing is mere self-parody, should attend a reading
like this one. More than ever before, poets are taking advantage of the patronage of non-profit institutions to
explore the possibilities of language rather than merely seeking to meet institutional expectations. At this
reading were works that would delight classicalists and lovers of poetry in translation, but also works that
speak to the current metamodern zeitgeist and the possibility of eradicating cynicism and irony from poetry
altogether--and in a way that doesn't at all cheapen our hard-won knowledge of the world and its systemic
tragedies.
When did you realize you were a writer?

In the fall of 1998, when I was a 1L in law school. I discovered that half my brain--literally--was rebelling
against being a graduate student in the social sciences. I knew by October of that first year of legal training
that I wouldn't survive through my third year without learning to use language creatively as well as (as
attorneys do) with a rigorous rationalism. Poetry literally got me through law school, and once I became a
public defender I never looked back. My hybrid poet/attorney self-identity saved me from falling into utter
despair as I watched people's lives get destroyed daily by the American criminal justice system. I realized
then that while poetry can't single-handedly take down a system, it can provide hope for all renegades and,
in time, a systematic alternative to the cynicism of conformity and compliance.
Tell us about your process. Pen and paper, computer, notebooks--how do you write?
I write on my computer, as computer technology is absolutely indispensable to cutting and pasting quickly
when you're remixing original and found material. It's a change for me, though: I wrote many of the poems
in my second and third collections (or at least many of their opening lines and stanzas) with pen and paper.
How do you handle a bad review of your work?

I think we as poets are lucky to just get read at all, honestly. A bad review that's thoughtful isn't at all
bothersome because it's a sincere engagement with the text, and I think poets always expect that each reader
will engage with the text differently and find it differentially generative for them. The reviews I find
upsetting are the ones that are thinly disguised ad hominem attacks; these are distressing on both a personal
level (because what sort of nasty spirit is required to dedicate oneself to dehumanizing another author in this
way?) as well as on a professional level (because it speaks ill of where poetry-reviewing is headed). Generally,
though, a bad review--or any review at all--is just a snapshot in the literary lifespan of that particular reader.
Years hence that reader might feel differently, as I know I often have years after writing something critical
about a text. And even in the present, a reader with different sensibilities than that particular critic is
essentially having an entirely different life experience; not every book is intended for every reader, and as a
poet I just hope to find my readership in time--however large or small it may be.
Which writer would you most like to have a drink with, and why?
Walt Whitman. If even 1% of his spirit and energy could rub off on me during the course of a single meeting,
I think I could live the rest of my life appreciating the gift of sentience exponentially more than I do now.
What's the biggest mistake you've made as a writer?

Caring what anyone thinks about my writing or my ideas. I don't mean that as harshly as it sounds; in fact
I've become much more attuned to audience as I've continued developing as a writer, and much more
committed to understanding the tradition I'm writing in and against rather than just writing in a vacuum.
But I think that, as an English poet of my acquaintance once said to me, once you get to the point where
you've put in a necessary span of years writing and reading your own and others' poetry, you have to begin
trusting yourself. All writers have to cut the cord with their community in this way at some point;
workshopping (implicit or explicit, indirect or direct) is a useful tool for a time, but it's not a prescription for a
lifetime in language. These days I hope that I know what I'm about sufficiently to not be looking over my
shoulder or seeking approval from peers on a regular basis. The poets I admire the most are the ones best at
writing with intelligence and knowledge of the tradition while also not giving a good goddamn whether
what they're presently doing is fashionable.
What's the worst advice you hear authors give writers?

That craft is anywhere near as important as developing an idiosyncratic poetics that speaks earnestly into
and out of your own relationship with language and genre. When young writers equate success with
reproducing aesthetic gestures they've seen elsewhere, I think they set an unnecessary ceiling on their own
efforts. When I teach creative writing, the first thing I tell my students is that our goal is to begin together a
conversation about an idiosyncratically developed poetics that ends, many years hence, with them writing
poetry not a single other person in the world could or would write. To me, there's not too much point in
writing poetry--a genre that brings with it all sorts of hidden and not-so-hidden psychosocial miseries--if all
you're doing is trying to become the "next" so-and-so.
What scares you the most?

Not continuing to evolve as a poet. If I'm writing the same way and believing the same things I believe now in
five years, I'll be gravely disappointed in myself. And I think readers should be as well.
Where do you buy your books?

Everywhere I can: used bookstores, large chain bookstores, online, at conferences, at university library sales.
I buy so many books that I'll admit I've become catholic in my buying practices; I never feel like I'm using
one method of procuring books to the exclusion of others, because I'm pretty fanatical about all of them. I'm
also not adverse to free books, either, as I review contemporary poetry frequently and love receiving work in
the mail that I might not have come across by other means.
Who are you reading now?

I'm reading Infinite Jest, by David Foster Wallace, and Against the Day, by Thomas Pynchon. Which means
I basically have no time to read--or really even do--anything else. But when I read poetry lately it's been
student work, and that never ceases to inspire me. I'm encouraging my students to take risks that they'd
normally be uncomfortable with, and they're rising to the challenge and then some. My goal is to take a cue
from them in my own writing--as well as from the metamodern qualities that are so superlatively performed
by Wallace and (at times) Pynchon.
What's your favorite TV show at the moment?

Any answer other than Game of Thrones would be a lie. But Sherlock (the Benedict Cumberbatch iteration)
is a very close second. I also like (or liked) Mad Men, Justified, Breaking Bad, Louie, Wilfred, The Wire,
Deadwood, Bored to Death, Portlandia, Community, House of Cards, Orange Is the New Black, The Office,
Battlestar Galactica, Family Guy, Extras, Halt and Catch Fire, and, yes, Big Bang Theory (I admit it). I think
the new show The Last Man on Earth shows some promise, but it's too soon to say.
Bonus Round:
What do you want the world to know about you? Make it juicy.
Ever since I was a kid I've been an obsessive collector. I have no idea why, and I'm not particularly proud of
this sort of materialist instinct. But collecting things just makes me happier than anything else in the world-it makes me feel like a kid again, and it's important to me never to lose touch with the way I saw the world
when I was young (which was simultaneously in an oddly cynical and absurdly idealistic way). So I suppose
I'd have to cop to having certain types of collections that really would startle the average person with their
size and scope and (not for nothing) their absurd dorkiness: Legos, baseball caps, Dungeons & Dragons
guidebooks (and I don't even play D&D), contemporary poetry collections, reissues of psychedelic LPs from
the sixties, comic books, children's fiction (everything from dystopian YA novels to Dr. Seuss), game-used
baseballs and hockey pucks, higher ed stat-sets, soccer scarves and full-size flags from nation's I've visited,
framed prints of contemporary art I like, and many other things. I'm the sort of sorry idiot who even
collected computer "icons" when he first came online in the mid-1990s. What's wrong with me? Like I said,
I'm not proud of any of it, per se. But I do think it reminds me to be an active and energetic participant in the
world, which I fear is something I'd forget otherwise. I wish I didn't need such tangible reminders, but for
some reason I always have. The one "blurb" on the back cover of Metamericana that comes directly from me
is the sentence "I dream of disappearing"--a line from my still-forthcoming poetry collection, DATA. I really
think that summarizes my problem: without some studied connection to temporality and the objective world
I think I'd allow myself to just drift away.
Spring 2015
BlazeVOX Interview with Luke McMullan
15 Questions
John Kinsella has written that this book is
prising the nails out of the lyric. Thats true.
And while the books will to contradict the
lyric appears anti-lyrical, I wonder what in
fact could be more lyrical than that genres
distress? If we believe that the lyric
articulates formal, linguistic, politic,
histrionicsome constellation of all
predicatesdistress, then the articulation of
its own distress might be said to be both
supremely lyrical and anti-lyrical at once.
And this distress need not be that of the
writerI dont believe in the childish and convenient equivalence of the lyric I with the capitalist subject
made by some for whom that simplification is self-valorising. Its this tendency of the lyric to capture and
recuperate its own escape attempts, like the event horizon of a black hole, that has interested me in the
writing of Dolphin Aria. Theres a certain eternal gravitational pull to the lyric, which is also profoundly odd,
alienating, given its apparent historical specificity. Wordsworth wrote that poetry makes the familiar
unfamiliar, I think this is analogous to the process undertaken by every good writer of the lyric todaythey
make the form alien, perhaps uninhabitable. We should think of the scene in Independence Day when the
denizens of Earth have this sublime experience of the alien motherships viewed from below: the whole thing
cannot be viewed at once, only glimpsed in the gaps between skyscrapers, a sublimity that of course gives the
lie to their centrality and desacralises their subjectivity. The humans triumph in the end by uploading a
virus to that sublime form from a captured flying saucerand perhaps the metaphor of the virus or of the
fifth column is an appropriate descriptor for lyric engagement.
The book is called Dolphin Aria/Limited Hours: A Love Song. Perhaps I can disclose something of the book by
parsing its title. For me, the aria is an apex moment of the aesthetic, in which the training of a singer and so
many members of an orchestra in the pit, the competence and vision of the composer, the structure and
needs of the work, become momentarily crystalline. The aria bespeaks aesthetic refinement in the same way
that pure iron signifies the refinement of haematite. The aria is also, of course, the crystallisation of a certain
social text; in terms of inclusion and exclusion I think we are all clear on what opera, as phenomenon,
precipitates. Simultaneous with our own moment, there is speculation on whether and how dolphin/delphic
language will ever be understood, which is one of the things I was reading about when I was in the poem.
This idea of performing something for which one might be said to be truly maladapted, like a dolphin
singing an aria, but performing it nonetheless out of perverse formal obligation, is my nightmarish and
honest vision of poetry: cry out elocution and become draped heroes, which is both the garlanded soprano
and the flag-draped coffin. Hence also the opening of the book with the semi-choral script of ALL, in which
decoding is instantly converted into the spectre of accomplishment. The book is partly concerned with the
exploitation of animals, the supremacy and surety of the human; so Dolphin Aria is a pun on
dolphinarium. Ive written too much already. Ill just say that Limited Hours might refer to the visiting
periods in hospitals and prisons, and the countdown in which endangered animals (all animals)
unknowingly live; and that A Love Song following the colon is meant to suggest or question the conditions
that enable and inflect the possibilities for certain kinds of aesthetic form and experience (experience is
form; and the love song is the form of experience). What kind of love, being-together, repair, is possible in a
horrific world? And what else?

I was working for a software company that moved me to their new office in New York in January of 2013. The
company had software that ingested vast amounts of electronic documents (the whole internet) and then
looked for statistically significant words and phrases within that corpus in order to figure out, at scale, the
languages and topical contexts of those documents (webpages). I didnt understand it in any great detail, I
just sold it to other companies; and then for a while I managed the development of new applications for it.
As a way of thinking language, it was quite productive for me.
This was my first time in New York, even my first time outside Europe, and my impression was of an
inhuman city. Anyone who has ever spent time in the Javits Center, at industry get-togethers in the media
world, watched the horses pull carriages around Columbus Circus, or done business lunch or drinks would
agree with that impression without a second thought. It also seemed a city predicated on an enormous
amount of suffering, both there and elsewhere. New York is made possible by impoverishment. I found this
work stimulating on a day-to-day basisfunbut in the long run both profoundly alienating and totally
inhibiting. Readers who have worked in an office environment or in software development or media and
many others might get things like the SCRUM SONG and the poems incessant intrusion of jargon. I would
write absurd poems entirely out of things overheard on conference calls, or things I found myself saying at
work. It was hard not to get the sense that language can be subjected to perversion by economic forces
something like the Lacanian sense of the pervert, so that one gets the sense that it knows everything, totally.
So essentially, I felt economically propelled in different mannersthere was the necessity of work, I lived in
Babylon, but Id be dishonest if I didnt also say that I had money in my pocket then, too. I was feeling
nostalgic for home (Northern Ireland), too: nostalgic for a relation to place which was not possible for me in
New York and was no longer possible in Northern Ireland, either.
At the same time, I drew parallels between what I saw in my Arbeitswelt, my work-world, and in the social
world surrounding poetry. I began to equate my alienation from work with a burgeoning revulsion for the
social text of poetry, for the way its producers jockeyed and scrummed and marketed their too-obvious
signals. This book is influenced by and evinces disgust with poetry. This was late 2013/early 2014. I dont feel
quite the same way quite so much of the time now. But Ill reserve the right to turn over a new leaf.
I was reading a biography of Walter Benjamin. I was reading some of the poets I had met and come to know
and love in New York. I was watching helicopter gunship footage and thinking about Karl Kraus. I was
translating bits of Mayakovsky and Khlebnikov and vestiges of those found their way into the poem
throughout. I was thinking about Kants teleological argument from the apparent purposiveness of nature.

I should like not to have a career, except perhaps in the sense of the verb. This is the second volume Ive
published. It takes a lot of emotional effort for me to settle on publishing anything. Actually, thats wrong. I
expend a lot of emotional effort on trying not to publish. It is when that will is exhausted, that things slip out.
I am a perfectionist until I am wrong-footed. Im now working on a series of translations of an Old English
poem called The Ruin, which have been gestating for some time. Its an elegy in which the speaker comes
across the stone ruins of a (probably) Roman city, long after the Roman Empire has ceased to meaningfully
exist in the West. It makes me think of the American embassy in Baghdad. I am thinking of calling it
IMPERIVM, or just Ruin.
Cajole them endlessly til they relent and purchase. I learnt that trick from my work in media.

I dont have much of use to say. I hate the idea that someone might look at me while Im listening to poetry;
consequently I cant always concentrate. I have no problem performing; thats something else.
The last reading I went to was my partner, Sophie Seita, with Ron Silliman, at Segue. Ron read to us about
Wikileaks. I had two martinis and a few beers, went to a bar that begins with S, and argued with Josef for a
long but indeterminate time. Somehow we got home half a pizza richer. I call that a good reading.
Tell us about your process: Pen and Paper, computer, notebooks ... how do you write?
I do everything in notebooks. I do not usually set out on projects. I write what Im thinking without specific
intent and a set of concerns emerges, around which the work later organises. Im a sonically driven writer;
that is, the sound-patterns called for by the preceding lines drive what happens next. The necessary sounds
arrive first, then constellate into words and phrases. I edit on the computer. I have lost a lot of those
notebooks already. I scavenge. I like to cover my tracks. There are no rituals. Translation is a fallow field.

Ive only ever had one review of my work. It was mostly bad, and Ive forgotten what it said. So I suppose I do
that.
The ones I drink with now are the ones I most want to. I wont name names. Partly because itll look like Im
doing coterie, which I hate; partly because it wont be credible; partly because of my love for, nah just
kidding. Maybe Id like a drink with David Jones, so I can tell him hes still being read and what his work is to
me right now.

Write every day.
Oh, and The line comes from the breathing of the man who writes. That is Cracker-Barrel dogshit.
Borrowed from the library or bought at readings.

Gavin Douglass Eneados. Sam Newtons The Origins of Beowulf and the pre-Viking Kingdom of East Anglia.
There are writers whose work I return to over and over. Timothy Thorntons Jocund Day. Prynne. Pounds
Cathay. Sophie Seita. Mina Loys Anglo-Mongrels and the Rose. I admire Loys wholesome sense of disgust
for poetry. I was looking again at the first part of Hamlet. David Joness Anathemata, which should be more
widely acknowledged as equal to Finnegans Wake. Various commentaries on The Anathemata. Romes Wreck
by Trevor Joyce. Everything Ian Heames has ever done in his delightful life.
Bonus Round:
What do you want the world to know about you? Make it juicy ....
When I was a kid I was the Ulster under-16 chess champion. I wanted to be a professional chess player.
I hate astrology (sorry, New York poets).
Spring 2015
BlazeVOX Interview with Laura Madeline Wiseman
15 Questions
Exploring the mercurial myths of mermaids, nautical lore of
drift bottles, and unmapped beach parties at the Pacific,
Drink (BlazeVOX Books, 2015) questions the changeable
stories we tell of water, those connected to plane
disappearances, downed ships, lost girls, and forgotten lives.
Drink seeks to understand what terrorizes us, be they
forgotten messages, murdered sisters, or women living in
water.

Mermaids, planes lost at sea, the beach, art museums, my
dads obsession with privies, the gendering of ships during
WWII, tsunamis, oil spills, drift bottle lore, prompts from
NaProWriMo.

Ive been trying to write this book for a long time. Its one of those kinds of books a writer writes one way, takes
apart, rewrites it another way, retakes apart. Repeat. Repeat. Some books are harder to write than others. Originally,
when I was putting Drink together, I had the opening sequence of poems on lost planes, poems Id written after
following the news coverage on a plane that was lost and the ways in which the media fixated on its disappearance. I
knew the mermaid poems followed that sequence and the poems on drift bottles also belonged in Drink, but it was
when Id written the final poem for the book, that I had a chill, one of those moments a writer has when she backs
away from the manuscript, knowing that the entire book has suddenly changed. I got up from my desk and walked
around my office. I made a cup of tea, tapping my foot as it brewed. My book turned on that final poem. I knew
that if I was going to put that last poem in Drink, I needed another section, a section that earned the final poem. I
sat with that idea for awhile, going about teaching my classes, biking around town, going to yoga, and doing all the
things one does to livecooking, laundry, walking the dog. Somewhere in that living, I knew what poems to add. I
had a book manuscript Id put together while a writer in residence at the Prairie Center of the Arts, but had left it
mostly alone after writing it, letting it hunker like a monster in a drawer. The third section of Drink was from that
book, a sequence of poems I had ordered and reordered, placed in one book manuscript and then another. The
final poem of Drink made that third section possible. Hilda Raz, one of my teachers in Ph.D. school, said that you
have to earn your abstractions in a poem. I think thats true with poemstoowithin books. Big poems must be
earned.
Poetry will save your life.

Just one? Would a few be okay?
Recent festivals, conferences, and readings series Ive attended include Indiana Writers Consortium and
Conference, MMLA, Engaged Citizen Conference, Poetry & Pints, Sunchild Austin Summer Readings, Art &
Words Show, Hudson Valley Writing Center, University of South Dakota Visiting Writer Series, Fox Chase Review
Reading Series, Omaha Lit Fest, as well as readings in art galleries such as The Apollon, Connect Gallery,
Monongalia Art Center, Paradigm Gallery + Studio, White Ripple Gallery, and many others. Some of the readings
and talks Ive enjoyed were given by Barbara Shoup, Meg Day, Meg Eden, Rainbow Rowell, Shevaun Brannigan,
Cat Dixon, Liz Kay, Brenda Sieczkowski, Lisa Kovanda, Marilyn Coffey, Kendra Fortmeyer, Bruce Bond, Sara
Henning, Marion Cohen, Jennifer Perrine, Leslie Adrienne Miller, Susana H. Case, Jennifer Franklin, Margo Taft
Stever, Sarah A. Chavez, Rosemary Winslow, Megan Burns, Michael Henson, and many more.
Theres nothing better then attending a reading by a writer I admire and hearing them read from and talk about their
work. I eat up these readings like really good dark chocolate. For the future, Im looking forward to AWP in
Minneapolis, CEA, Steel Pen Writers Conference, Nebraska Book Festival, and several others.
When did you realize you we're a writer?

Ive loved to write ever since I was a little kid, but when it came time to make the move from high school to college,
I almost became a chemist.
As I got materials ready to apply to college, I knew I needed two letters of recommendation. I asked my two
favorite teachers, my AP English teacher, who said, Of course, and my chemistry teacher, who said, Ill only
write a letter for you, if you major in chemistry. When I told my dad this, whose own major had been geology, he
said, Chemistry is a great major! Youll need a job when you graduate. So I did. I went to Iowa State University as
a chemistry major. During midterms my freshman year, I went to the writing center to get help on a chemistry
paper. My teacher had given me a C+ and had written, You could have done much more with this paper. When I
visited him in his white, austere office, he said, You dont write well, but said I could revise. As I trudged through
the falling snow to my writing center appointment, campus felt cold, dark, and empty. The wiry aide in the English
department helped me attend to my grammatical errors, but he also helped me attend to something else. He asked
what I wanted to do with my life. I need to get a job, I said, but explained about the major, my dad, the
scholarships Id received to study chemistry, and about my thirst to write.
Do what you love. The job will come.
As I trudged back through the snow, I didnt know what I should think, didnt know what I should do, but did
know how to improve my chemistry paper. Before my sophomore year was completed at ISU, I changed my major
to English Literature and went on to graduate school to study the craft of writing by practicing it. I never did get the
name of the writer centers aide. Whoever he was, wherever he is nowthank you for putting me back on course to
becoming a writer.
I write poems with pen and paper and then transfer the good stuff to the computer. In my writing classes, I begin
most classes with two or three seven minute poems with writing prompts. We also go on writing field trips to local
art museums and history museums. I always write with my students, following the prompts I assign. All writers need
to write, to practice writing, to write badly, to write when theyre not feeling like writing, and to write in places and
situations that are not ideal for inspiration. Because I teach what I practice, I often find that some of the rough,
seven minute poems that I write with my students are the first drafts of what later becomes solid material. Virtually
all of the first drafts of the mermaid section in Drink, I wrote with my introductory and advance poetry students
one semester at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.

Laugh.
Only one? In the land of the living or the dead?
In looking at my book shelf beside my desk for names, I love to share a cup of coffee with Elizabeth Bishop, Anne
Sexton, Audre Lorde, Adrienne Rich, Virginia Woolf, Zora Neale Hurston, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Emily Dickinson,
Sappho, Daphne du Maurier, Anne Frank, Marion Zimmerman Bradley, and several others. For the living and also
on my bookshelf, Id love to drink tea with Margaret Atwood, Marge Piercy, Jeanette Winterson, Elizabeth Gilbert,
and Ann Patchett. There are several others Im too shy to admit Id love to sit with over coffee. But heres the thing,
Ive found that by being a writer, Ive had the opportunity on more than one occasion to meet and talk with writers
whose work Ive admired (and crushed on, for a long time). I count some of those moments as the greatest
highlights of my life.
If I had to pick only one, the women writer I would love to have a drink (of the temperance variety) would be
Matilda Fletcher, my great-great-great grandmother who was a suffragist, lecturer, and poet. She spoke on stage with
Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton. There is no known photo of Matilda, but I image that she was the
type of woman whod grab your hand, hold your eye, and tell you things you always wanted to know, but never had
the courage to ask.

Waiting so long to publish my first book.

I think one of the hardest things to do is to write a book and once a writer has done this, the writer is then expected
to promote the book, swimming in this weird and strange waters of promotion, engagement, salesmenship,
advocacy, readings, festivals, book trailers, features, interviews, radio samplers, guest blogs, podcasts, etc. I run a
chapbook interview feature on my blog where I interview poets about all things chapbook and one the questions I
often ask is the promotions question. The answers I receive are varied and smart. I ask it because I dont know
the answer. Promote your work is the advice often given to writers, but how one does thatgood, bad, worse,
best, okay, fantasticis a practice Im still learning how to practice.

Mortality.

I get the majority of my books at readings, but I also buy online directly from presses.

I am currently reading Margo Taft Stevers Lunatic Ball (Kattywompus Press, 2015) and Kristina Marie Darlings
books The Artic Circle (BlazeVOX Books, 2015) and Fortress (Sundress Publications, 2014).
What is your favorite TV show at the moment?

This semester, I watched every episode of Awkward Black Girl.
Bonus Round:
I love to participate in long-distance bicycling rides like RABGRAI and the Cottonwood 200. To train for those
multi-day and week-long rides, I like to do shorter one-day rides of the 40, 50, 70+ mile variety.
Spring 2015
BlazeVOX Interview with I Goldfarb
15 Questions For you to Answer:
K: A 21st Century Canzoniere is a book of love poetry,
inspired by Petrarchs Canzoniere for Laura, but quite a bit
longer. Most of the poems are sonnets, and the 590 poems
(15 of which have been removed for privacy reasons) were
written at a rhythm of nearly one per day over a bit less
than two years.

The book tells the story of a chaste or Platonic love
relationship between a professor around 70 and a
beautiful graduate student in her early twenties. I first
wrote one or two poems, then decided to write a cycle of
ten, then a hundred, then Petrarchs 366, and finally just
kept going until my Muse broke off our relationship

It is a unique departure. As a professor I have written over a dozen books, but no volumes of poetry. I have
written poetry before, some of which I am proud of, but after sending out some poems to magazines about 18
years ago and getting all rejections, I stopped thinking about publishing them. But the Canzoniere is far more
poetry than I had written in my life until then. As I said in one of the poems, In past lives I wrote poetry /
you a poet have made of me.
I honestly think this is a major work of poetry. It maintains a high level throughout and contains some
beautiful lines and sequences. Above all, it is a unique work in the modern era; you have to go back to the
Renaissance to find a volume of this length and quality dedicated to the glorification of the poets Muse.

I dont go to many readings. We used to have a little group nearby populated largely by people of my age and
social situation that met monthly in a little theater, and I would read a couple of sonnets there.
Unfortunately the hostess of the group (something of a poet herself), who didnt live nearby, lost the service
of her assistant and decided to move the readings back to her home area, about 40 miles away, which put an
end to my participation.

I used to think of becoming a novelist, but never got beyond a novella. Poetry isnt something I really
thought much about as a career until now. But I have always written books of scholarship and theory.
I used to write out everything by hand and have it typed up. After using a computer for several years, I
became able to compose expository prose at the keyboard. But for poetry, I almost always write a poem out
on a pad, small or full (not legal) size, then type it into a draft file, and after working on this, transfer it to a
file for finished poems, which I often continue to tweak.

As a new poet I havent had much of this, except for rejection. I have always kept a low profile rather than
seek publicity for my work. Virtually everyone I know who has had even a small dose of celebrity has
become the worse for it; it is extremely hard to avoid vanity and a sense that visibility somehow confers an
excellence that those less known cannot attain. If people start to notice this work, I think Im old enough now
to handle it, but I dont expect it.
I guess Id say Baudelaire, since I know his work well and, as so many do, find him the greatest, most human
artist among lyric poets. I wouldnt mind talking to Homer or Sappho either, over a glass of ouzo.

In my non-fiction works, some people tell me I should have tried harder to appeal to the public, but I dont
like to pander. In poetry, I havent written enough to make any mistakes; I might have tried harder with the
mags, but I was struck by how mechanical the process was: every single rejection (in a SASE, this was before
the Internet) arrived on a nearly identical pink slip. It just seemed like a mechanical system where you
have ten packets of poems you submit to ten journals, and when they get rejected you send packet 1 to
journal 2, etc., and after a while they recognize your name and start accepting your poetry. I got some advice
from a real poet who told me, just take the whole thing and publish it as a book, and thats what I did; well
see how that works.

Playing the game; you have to eat, but a real writer has to remain faithful to his star, or to his Muse, as in my
case.

Less death than a prolonged half-death. Not being able to write anymore would make life unbearable even
without physical pain and disability.

I used to buy lots of books, French mostly; lately, I buy very few, some on a Kindle, others usually online.

I just finished reading lots of old novels I hadnt had time for before retiring: Walter Scott, Fanny Burney
and many other woman writers of that era. Having exhausted that domain, I havent found much to enjoy
lately. Ive always meant to reread Dostoevsky, whom I loved as an adolescent, but Im a little afraid Ill be
disappointed, as occurred recently on (re)reading Don Quixote.

Ah, since Seinfeld I never watch TV. The Sopranos, Breaking BadI cant agree that this is literature,
somehow as good or better than film. Theres no comparison between those shows and even a halfwaydecent movie. Im not a huge fan of Coppola, but how can you even begin to compare The Godfather with The
Sopranos?
Bonus Round:
Goldfarb respects the privacy of his Muse, but his aim in writing the Canzoniere is to immortalize, not her
worldly self, but her essence, her soul purified of the weakness that I should have recognized before sharing
my feelings with her. I want readers in a hundred, in a thousand years, to say: how wonderful she must have
been to inspire all that poetry. I hope the poetry is good enough to make that happen.
Spring 2015
BlazeVOX Interview with Deborah Meadows
Tell me about your book. What influenced this book?

Three Plays extends work Ive had published as a poet by exploring
argument, logic or absurdity, human frailty, and disintegrated
categories. Guide Dogs: because I live close to city hall, I frequently
walked over to Occupy LA, and that was tremendously attractive for
its energy, original approaches to old injustices as well as current
economic problems that press on us. Some Cars and Speech Acts with
Trees both extend long time considerations of justice, violence, the
role of art and knowledge.

This follows ten books of poetry and many years of teaching
university courses with a progressive pedagogy, union work, and
other social activism.
If you had to convince a friend or colleague to read this book, what

might you tell them?
Convince? I might give a free copy, sit in a restaurant and read page
47-49 to my friend or colleague, might mention my own work as a
cleaning lady as a younger person.

I am part of the Padua playwrights group, and for the past several weeks we had staged readings of our work
(including my play published by BlazeVox Some Cars) in a nearby warehouse converted to living quarters where an
actor has a studio area. All actors who generously gave of their time and talent were great, plus it was a chance to think
about the writing, about a possible future production.
I began as a small child but not until later did I think it possible, due in part, to social shaping along lines of class and
gender.
Mostly pen and paper, then onto the computer.

You can send one because I havent seen something utterly damming.
Maybe a party of drinking ghosts could include Arkadii Dragomoschenko, Csar Vallejo, Samuel Beckett, Inger
Christensen, and Italo Calvino. Their works are fascinating, their innovations in language, in the very definition of
literature.

Maybe being too solitary even though I was very engaged politically outside of literary communities. Maybe that has
changed, yet there is something ultimately solitary about writing for those who are condemned to take it very
seriously.

Maybe I dont listen to such, because advice does not stand out as something Ive heard from writers. I focus on their
written works, and learn (or not) from those.

Not having enough time to do all the works I hope to complete in this life.
In recent years, I order many books online late at night when stores are closed mostly I aim to buy direct from small
press publishers themselves avoiding the goliaths in the book business. I use the library on campus and Link+ all the
time, too.
Parallel Presents: The Art of Pierre Huyghe by Amelia Barikin and The Radicant by Nicolas Bourriaud. I was really taken
with the recent Huyghe retrospective at LACMA that is more a site-responsive re-creation than the usual plan for
bringing together works across time that can be mounted in any city identically. This was an idiosyncratic array.
When not in downtown Los Angeles, my husband and I have a place in the mountains where we spend time. It is so
remote there is no tv or cell service, so we bring dvds and are now midway through Treme having completed The Wire.
Spring 2015
A Year Before 9/11
The fifteen Years of BlazeVOX
By Geoffrey Gatza
Table of Contents
2000 ........................................................................................................................................................... 2
2001 ............................................................................................................................................................ 5
2002............................................................................................................................................................ 7
2003 ........................................................................................................................................................... 9
2004 ......................................................................................................................................................... 12
2005 .......................................................................................................................................................... 15
2006 ......................................................................................................................................................... 19
2007 .......................................................................................................................................................... 21
2008 ........................................................................................................................................................ 26
2009 ......................................................................................................................................................... 32
2010 ......................................................................................................................................................... 40
2011 ........................................................................................................................................................... 51
2012........................................................................................................................................................... 57
2013 .......................................................................................................................................................... 64
2014 .......................................................................................................................................................... 73
2000
Socialist president, Ricardo Lagos, elected in Chile (Jan. 16).
George W. Bush and Al Gore take Iowa caucuses in U.S. presidential race (Jan. 22).
Austria at center of European dispute after conservative People's Party forms coalition with the far-right
Freedom Party, headed by xenophobe Jrg Haider (Feb. 3).
First Lady Hillary Clinton officially enters N.Y. Senate race (Feb. 6).
Hijackers seize Afghan plane; release hostages in Stansted, England (Feb. 612).
Britain ends self-rule in Northern Ireland after Irish Republican Army misses disarmament deadline (Feb.
11).
NEAR spacecraft becomes first to orbit an asteroid (Feb. 14). Wary investors cause stock plunge; beginning of
the end of the Internet stock boom (Feb. 25).
Reformists win control of Iranian parliament for first time since 1979 Islamic revolution (Feb. 26).
Gun maker Smith & Wesson limits the manufacture and distribution of handguns in light of lawsuits (March
17).
Mass murder or suicide of hundreds in Ugandan doomsday cult (March 18).
Acting Russian president Vladimir V. Putin formally chosen for post (March 25).
Microsoft loses antitrust suit; appeal expected (April 3).
Controversial Osprey plane crash kills 19 marines (April 8).
Cuban boy Elin Gonzlez reunited with father after federal raid of Miami relatives' home (April 22).
Vermont approves same-sex unions (April 25).
I love you virus disrupts computers worldwide (May 4).
South Carolina removes Confederate battle flag from capitol dome (May 18).
Chile ends Augusto Pinochet's immunity, clearing way for trial on murder and torture charges during years
as dictator (May 24).
Israeli troops withdraw from Lebanese security zone after 22 years of occupation (May 24).
Former Indonesian president Suharto under house arrest, charged with corruption and abuse of power
(May 29).
Britain restores parliamentary powers to Northern Ireland after Sinn Fein agrees to disarm (June 4).
Presidents of North and South Korea sign peace accord, ending half-century of antagonism (June 15).
British find 58 bodies of illegal Asian immigrants suffocated in Dutch truck that transported them (June 20).
Elin Gonzlez returns to Cuba with father (June 23).
U.S. navy resumes shelling exercises of Puerto Rico's Vieques Island, used as a training site (June 25).
Human genome deciphered; expected to revolutionize the practice of medicine (June 26).
Iraq believed to resume missile program (June 30). Vicente Fox Quesada elected president of Mexico (July 2).
Bashar al-Assad succeeds late father, Hafez al-Assad, as Syrian president (July 10).
Concorde crash kills 113 near Paris (July 25).
Republican convention picks Texas governor George W. Bush as presidential candidate; Dick Cheney for
vice presidential spot (Aug. 2).
Democratic convention selects Vice President Al Gore and Sen. Joseph I. Lieberman to head ticket (Aug. 14).
Los Alamos scientist Wen Ho Lee, accused of stealing sensitive nuclear weapons data, freed after serving
nine months in prison (Sept. 13).
Olympic Games open in Australia (Sept. 15).
Six-year Whitewater investigation of the Clintons ends without indictments (Sept. 20).
Yugoslav opposition claims victory; incumbent Slobodan Milosevic denies results (Sept. 25).
Danish voters reject euro (Sept. 26).

Abortion pill, RU-486, wins U.S. approval (Sept. 28).
Palestinians and Israelis clash, spurred by visit of right-wing Israeli leader Ariel Sharon to a joint
Jewish/Muslim holy site; Al Aksa intifada continues unabated (Sept. 30 et seq.).
Nationwide uprising overthrows Yugoslavian president Milosevic (Oct. 5).
Vojislav Kostunica sworn in as Yugoslav president (Oct. 7).
17 U.S. sailors on navy destroyer Cole die in Yemen terrorist explosion (Oct. 12).
U.S. presidential election closest in decades; Bush's slim lead in Florida leads to automatic recount in that
state (Nov. 78).
Republicans file federal suit to block manual recount of Florida presidential election ballots sought by
Democrats (Nov. 11).
Philippine president Joseph Estrada impeached after receiving gambling payoffs (Nov. 13).
Florida Supreme Court rules hand count of presidential ballots may continue (Nov. 21).
Global warming talks collapse at Hague conference (Nov. 25).
Florida Secretary of State Katherine Harris certifies Bush as winner by 537 votes (Nov. 26).
Mad Cow disease alarms Europe (Nov. 30 et seq.).
Israeli prime minister Ehud Barak resigns (Dec. 9).
U.S. Supreme Court orders halt to manual recount of presidential votes in Florida (Dec. 9).
Supreme Court seals Bush victory by 54; rules there can be no further recounting (Dec. 12).
2001
Congo president Laurent Kabila assassinated by bodyguard (Jan. 16). Son Joseph Kabila takes over amid
continuing civil war.
Ariel Sharon wins election in Israel (Feb. 6). Right-wing leader chosen overwhelmingly as nation's fifth
prime minister in just over five years during worst Israeli-Palestinian violence in years. Background: Middle
East.
The long-simmering resentment of Macedonia's ethnic Albanians erupts into violence in March. The rebels
seek greater autonomy within Macedonia. After six months of fighting, a peace agreement is signed (Aug. 13).
British-led NATO forces enter the country and disarm the guerrillas. Background: Macedonia and the
Balkans.
U.S. spy plane and Chinese jet collide (April 2); Sino-American relations deteriorate during a standoff. The
24 crew members of the U.S. plane were detained for 11 days and released after the U.S. issued a formal
statement of regret.
Former Yugoslav president Slobodan Milosevic is delivered to UN tribunal in The Hague to await war-crime
trial (June 29).
Without U.S., 178 nations reach agreement on climate accord, which rescues, though dilutes, 1997 Kyoto
Protocol (July 23).
In response to Sept. 11 terrorist attacks, U.S. and British forces launch bombing campaign on Taliban
government and al-Qaeda terrorist camps in Afghanistan (Oct. 7). Bombings continue on a daily basis.
Background: Afghanistan.
Irish Republican Army announces that it has begun to dismantle its weapons arsenal, marking a dramatic
leap forward in Northern Ireland peace process (Oct. 23). Background: Northern Ireland Primer.
At a UN-sponsored summit in Bonn, Germany, Afghani factions meet to create a post-Taliban government
(Nov. 27). Hamid Karzai is selected as head of the transitional government (Dec. 5). Background: Who's Who
in Afghanistan.
Taliban regime in Afghanistan collapses after two months of bombing by American warplanes and fighting
by Northern Alliance ground troops (Dec. 9).
Israel condemns the Palestinian Authority as a "terror-supporting entity" and severs ties with leader Yasir
Arafat following mounting violence against Israelis (Dec. 3). The Israeli Army begins bombing Palestinian
areas. Background: Middle East.
In final days of presidency, Bill Clinton issues controversial pardons, including one for Marc Rich, billionaire
fugitive financier (Jan. 20).
George W. Bush is sworn in as 43rd president (Jan. 20).
U.S. submarine Greeneville sinks Japanese fishing boat, killing 9 (Feb. 9).
FBI agent Robert Hanssen is charged with spying for Russia for 15 years (Feb. 20).
Race riots in Cincinnati continue for several days following a shooting of an unarmed black man by a white
police officer (April 7 et seq.).
Four are declared guilty in 1998 terrorist bombings of U.S. embassies in Kenya and Tanzania (May 29).
Background: U.S. Embassy Bombings.
Balance of the Senate shifts after Jim Jeffords of Vermont changes his party affiliation from Republican to
Independent. The move strips Republicans of control of the Senate and gives Democrats the narrowest of
majorities (50-49-1) (June 5).
Bush signs new tax-cut law, the largest in 20 years (June 7). Background: Economic Downturn and a Tax Cut.
Oklahoma City bomber Timothy McVeigh executed (June 11).
Budget surplus dwindles. The Congressional Budget Office attributes this rapid change in the nation's
fortunes to the slowing economy and the Bush tax cut (Aug. 22). Background: Economic Downturn and a
Tax Cut.
Terrorists attack United States. Hijackers ram jetliners into twin towers of New York City's World Trade
Center and the Pentagon. A fourth hijacked plane crashes 80 mi outside of Pittsburgh (Sept. 11). Toll of dead
and injured in thousands. Within days, Islamic militant Osama bin Laden and the al-Qaeda terrorist
network are identified as the parties behind the attacks.
Anthrax scare rivets nation, as anthrax-laced letters are sent to various media and government officials.
Several postal workers die after handling the letters (throughout October).
2002
Former Yugoslav leader Slobodan Milosevics trial on charges of crimes against humanity opens at The
Hague (Feb. 12).
Tamil Tigers and Sri Lankan government sign a cease-fire agreement, ending 19 years of civil war (Feb. 22).
Background: World in Review
India's worst Hindu-Muslim violence in a decade rocked the state of Gujarat after a Muslim mob firebombed a train, killing Hindu activists. Hindus retaliated, and more than 1,000 died in the bloodshed (Feb.
27 et seq.). Background: World in Review
U.S. and Afghan troops launch Operation Anaconda against remaining al-Qaeda and Taliban fighters in
Afghanistan (March 2). Background: Taliban Timeline and Afghanistan
Israeli tanks and warplanes attack West Bank towns of Nablus, Jenin, Bethlehem, and others in response to
string of Palestinian suicide attacks (March 29April 21). In the first three months of 2002, 14 suicide bombers
kill dozens of Israeli civilians, and wounded hundreds. Background: World in Review
International Criminal Court wins UN ratification; U.S. refuses to ratify (April 11).
Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez ousted in coup, then reinstated (April 12, 14).
U.S. and Russia reach landmark arms agreement to cut both countries' nuclear arsenals by up to two-thirds
over the next 10 years (May 13).
East Timor becomes a new nation (May 20).
Terrorist bomb in Bali kills hundreds (Oct. 12).
Government suspended in Northern Ireland in protest of suspected IRA spy ring (Oct. 14).
North Korea admits to developing nuclear arms in defiance of treaty (Oct. 16).
Chechen rebels take 763 hostages in Moscow theater (Oct. 23). Russian authorities release a gas into theater,
killing 116 hostages and freeing remainder (Oct. 26). Background: Chechnya Timeline
China's Jiang Zemin officially retires as general secretary; Hu Jintao named as his successor (Nov. 14).
UN Security Council passes unanimous resolution calling on Iraq to disarm or else face "serious
consequences." (Nov. 8).
UN arms inspectors return to Iraq (Nov. 18).
President Bush's first State of the Union address vows to expand the fight on terrorism and labels Iran, Iraq,
and North Korea "an axis of evil" (Jan. 29).
Kenneth L. Lay, chairman of bankrupt energy trader Enron, resigns; company under federal investigation
for hiding debt and misrepresenting earnings (Jan. 24). Background: 2002 News of the Nation
U.S. withdraws from International Court treaty (May 6).
FBI lawyer Coleen Rowley criticizes FBI for thwarting terrorist efforts in a letter to the FBI director (May 21).
U.S. abandons 31-year-old Antiballistic Missile treaty (June 13). Background: 2001 News of the Nation
Bush announces change in Middle East policy: U.S. will not recognize an independent Palestinian state until
Yasir Arafat is replaced (June 24).
Bush signs corporate reform bill (July 30) in response to a spate of corporate scandals: Enron, Arthur
Andersen, Tyco, Qwest, Global Crossing, ImClone, and Adelphia, among others, were convicted or placed
under federal investigation for various misadventures in fraud and crooked accounting. Background: 2002
News of the Nation
Pennsylvania miners rescued after spending 77 hours in a dark, flooded mine shaft (July 28).
Bush addresses United Nations, calling for a "regime change" in Iraq (Sept. 12).
Snipers prey upon DC suburbs, killing ten and wounding others (Oct. 224). Police arrest two sniper
suspects, John Allen Muhammad and John Lee Malvo (Oct. 24).
Republicans retake the Senate in midterm elections; gain additional House seats (Nov. 5). Background: 2002
News of the Nation
Bush signs legislation creating cabinet-level Department of Homeland Security (Nov. 25).
Boston archbishop Cardinal Bernard Law resigns as a result of the Catholic Church's sexual abuse scandals
and cover-up of priest-child molestation. (Dec. 13).
2003
North Korea withdraws from treaty on the nonproliferation of nuclear weapons (Jan. 10).
In State of the Union address, Bush announces that he is ready to attack Iraq even without a UN mandate
(Jan. 28). (For an account of the U.S. build-up to war in Iraq, see News of the Nation, 2003.)
Ariel Sharon elected Israeli prime minister (Jan. 29).
Nine-week general strike in Venezuela calling for President Chavez's resignation ends in defeat (Feb. 2).
U.S. Secretary of State Powell presents Iraq war rationale to UN, citing its WMD as imminent threat to world
security (Feb. 5).
U.S. and Britain launch war against Iraq (March 19). See also Iraq war timeline.
Baghdad falls to U.S. troops (April 9).
First Palestinian prime minister, Mahmoud Abbas, sworn in (April 29).
U.S.-backed "road map" for peace proposed for Middle East (April 30). Background
The U.S. declares official end to combat operations in Iraq (May 1).
Terrorists strike in Saudi Arabia, killing 34 at Western compound; Al-Qaeda suspected (May 12).
Burmese opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi again placed under house arrest by military regime (May 30).
International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) discovers Iran's concealed nuclear activities and calls for
intensified inspections (June 18).
Palestinian militant groups announce ceasefire toward Israel (June 29).
Liberia's autocratic president Charles Taylor forced to leave civil-war ravaged country (Aug. 11). Background
NATO assumes control of peacekeeping force in Afghanistan (Aug. 11). Background
Libya accepts blame for 1988 bombing of flight over Lockerbie, Scotland; agrees to pay $2.7 billion to the
families of the 270 victims (Aug. 15).
Suicide bombing destroys UN headquarters in Baghdad, killing 24, including top envoy Sergio Vieira de
Mello (Aug. 19).
Palestinian suicide bombing in Jerusalem kills 20 Israelis, including 6 children (Aug. 19).
After Israel retaliates for suicide bombing by killing top member of Hamas, militant Palestinian groups
formally withdraw from cease-fire in effect since June 29 (Aug. 24).
Palestinian Prime Minister Mahmoud Abbas resigns; "road map" to peace effectively collapses (Sept. 6).
Background
The Bush administration reverses policy, agreeing to transfer power to an interim Iraqi government in early
2004 (Nov. 14).
Suicide bombers attack two synagogues in Istanbul, Turkey, killing 25 (Nov. 15).
Another terrorist attack in Istanbul kills 26 (Nov. 20). Al-Qaeda suspected in both. See suspected al-Qaeda
terrorist attacks.
Georgian president Eduard Shevardnadze resigns after weeks of protests (Nov. 23).
Paul Martin succeeds Jean Chretien as Canadian prime minister (Dec. 12).
Saddam Hussein is captured by American troops (Dec. 13).
Libyan leader Muammar Qaddafi announces he will give up weapons program (Dec. 19).
Space shuttle Columbia explodes, killing all 7 astronauts (Feb. 1).
Bush signs ten-year, $350-billion tax cut package, the third-largest tax cut in U.S. history (May 28).
In one of the most important rulings on the issue of affirmative action in twenty-five years-the Supreme
Court decisively upholds the right of affirmative action in higher education (June 23).
Investigation into the loss of space shuttle Columbia cites egregious organizational problems at NASA (Aug.
25).
Congressional Budget Office predicts federal deficit of $480 billion in 2004 and $5.8 trillion by 2013 (Aug. 26).
California governor Gray Davis ousted in recall vote; actor Arnold Schwarzenegger elected in his place (Oct.
7).
President Bush signs $87.5 billion emergency package for post-war Iraq reconstruction; this supplements $79
billion approved in April. (Nov. 5).
John A. Muhammad, convicted in the 2002 Washington, DC, area shootings, receives death sentence (Nov.
24).
President Bush eliminates steel tariffs after WTO says U.S. violated trade laws (Dec. 4).
2004
About one third of Irans Parliament steps down to protest hard-line Guardian Councils banning of more
than 2,000 reformists from running in parliamentary elections (Feb. 1).
A. Q. Khan, founder of Pakistan's nuclear program, admits he sold nuclear-weapons designs to other
countries, including North Korea, Iran, and Libya (Feb. 4).
Armed rebels in Haiti force President Aristide to resign and flee the country (Feb. 29).
Spain is rocked by terrorist attacks, killing more than 200. Al Qaeda takes responsibility (March 11).
Spain's governing Popular Party loses election to opposition Socialists. Outcome seen as a reaction to
terrorist attacks days before and Popular Party's support of the U.S.-led war in Iraq (March 14).
North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) formally admits 7 new countries: Bulgaria, Estonia, Latvia,
Lithuania, Romania, Slovakia, and Slovenia (March 29).
Israeli prime minister Sharon announces plan to unilaterally withdraw from Gaza Strip (April 12).
Greek Cypriots reject UN reunification plan with Turkish Cypriots (April 24).
Sudan rebels (SPLA) and government reach accord to end 21-year civil war. However, separate war in
western Darfur region between Arab militias and black Africans continues unabated (May 26).
U.S. troops launch offensive in Falluja in response to killing and mutilation on March 31 of four U.S. civilian
contractors. (April 5May 1).
U.S. hands over power to Iraqi interim government; Iyad Allawi becomes prime minister (June 28).
Security Council demands Sudanese government disarm militias in Darfur that are massacring civilians
(July 30).
Summer Olympics take place in Athens, Greece (Aug. 1329).
Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez survives recall referendum (Aug. 16).
Chechen terrorists take about 1,200 schoolchildren and others hostage in Beslan, Russia; 340 people die
when militant detonate explosives (Sept. 13).
UN Atomic Energy Agency tells Iran to stop enriching uranium; a nascent nuclear weapons program
suspected (Sept. 18).
About 380 tons of explosives reported missing in Iraq (Oct. 25).
Yasir Arafat dies in Paris (Nov. 11).
U.S. troops launch attack on Falluja, stronghold of the Iraqi insurgency (Nov. 8).
Ukraine presidential election declared fraudulent (Nov. 21).
Hamid Karzai inaugurated as Afghanistan's first popularly elected president (Dec. 7).
Massive protests by supporters of opposition candidate Viktor Yushchenko's lead to a new Ukrainian
election; Yushchenko eventually declared prime minister (Dec. 26).
Enormous tsunami devastates Asia; 200,000 killed (Dec. 26).
Bush proposes ambitious space program that includes flights to the Moon, Mars, and beyond (Jan. 14).
John Kerry secures Democratic nomination after winning nine out of ten primaries and caucuses (March 2).
U.S. media release graphic photos of American soldiers abusing and sexually humiliating Iraqi prisoners at
Abu Ghraib prison. Images spark outrage around the world (April 30).
Gay marriages begin in Massachusetts, the first state in the country to legalize such unions (May 17).
Senate Intelligence Committee reports that intelligence on Iraq's weapons programs was "overstated" and
flawed (July 5).
Sept. 11 commission harshly criticizes governments handling of terrorist attacks (July 22).
Democratic National Convention in Boston nominates John Kerry for president (July 2629).
Pentagon-sponsored Schlesinger report rejects idea that Abu Ghraib prison abuse was work of a few
aberrant soldiers, and asserts there were "fundamental failures throughout all levels of command" (Aug. 24).
Republican Convention in New York renominates President Bush (Aug. 30Sept. 2).
Florida hit by hurricanes Bonnie (Aug. 12) and Charley (Aug. 13).
U.S.s final report on Iraqs weapons finds no WMDs (Sept. 16).
Congress extends tax cuts due to expire at the end of 2005 (Sept. 23).
Hurricane Ivan ravages U.S. south (Sept. 15). Hurricane Jeanne hits Florida (Sept. 26).
George W. Bush is reelected president, defeats John Kerry (Nov. 2).
2005
Worldwide aid pours in to help the eleven Asian countries devastated by the Dec. 26, 2004, tsunami (Jan.).
Mahmoud Abbas wins presidency of the Palestinian Authority in a landslide. This is the first presidential
election for Palestinians since 1996 (Jan. 9).
The Sudanese government and Southern rebels sign a peace agreement to end a 20-year civil war that has
claimed the lives of two million people (Jan. 9).
Iraqi elections to select a 275-seat National Assembly take place despite threats of violence (Jan. 30). See also
Iraq; Iraq Timeline.
Former Lebanese prime minister Rafik Hariria nationalist who had called for Syria's withdrawal from
Lebanonis assassinated (Feb. 14). Weeks of protests ensue.
Violent protests follow elections in Kygyzstan (March 13), which international monitors deem severely
flawed. President Askar Akayev flees the country and then resigns (April 4).
Pope John Paul II Dies (April 2). Benedict XVI becomes the next pope (April 24).
The Syrian military, stationed in Lebanon for 29 years, withdraws (April 26).
Tony Blair becomes first Labour Party prime minister to win three successive terms, but his party loses a
large number of seats in the elections (May 5).
The European Union abandons plans to ratify the proposed European constitution by 2006 after both
France and the Netherlands vote against it (June 16).
Former Teheran mayor Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, a hard-line conservative, wins Iran's presidential election
with 62% of the vote. He defiantly pursues Iran's nuclear ambitions over the course of his first year in office
(June 24).
London hit by Islamic terrorist bombings, killing 52 and wounding about 700. It is Britain's worst attack since
World War II (July 7).
Group of Eight industrial nations pledge to double aid to Africa to $50 billion a year by 2010, cancel the debt
of many poor countries, and open trade (July 8).
Pentagon assessment finds Iraq's police force is, at best, "partially capable" of fighting the country's
insurgency. The U.S.'s eventual withdrawal plan hinges upon Iraqi security forces replacing U.S. soldiers:
"As Iraqis stand up, Americans will stand down," President Bush had stated (July 20). See also Iraq; Iraq
Timeline.
The Irish Republican Army announces it is officially ending its violent campaign for a united Ireland and
will instead pursue its goals politically (July 27). See also Northern Ireland Peace Process.
The Indonesian government and the Free Aceh Movement (GAM) sign a peace accord to end their nearly
30-year-long civil war (Aug. 15).
Israel begins evacuating about 8,000 Israeli settlers from the Gaza Strip, which has been occupied by Israel
for the last 38 years (Aug. 15).
A 7.6 earthquake centered in the Pakistani-controlled part of the Kashmir region kills more than 80,000 and
leaves an estimated 4 million homeless (Oct. 2).
Angela Merkel, leader of the Christian Democratic Union, which narrowly prevailed over Chancellor
Gerhard Schrder's Social Democratic Party in September elections becomes the country's first female
chancellor (Oct. 10).
Millions of Iraqi voters ratify a new constitution (Oct. 15).
Former Iraqi president Saddam Hussein goes on trial for the killing of 143 people in the town of Dujail, Iraq,
in 1982 (Oct 19).
Several weeks of violent rioting begins in the impoverished French-Arab and French-African suburbs of
Paris after two boys are accidentally killed while hiding from police (Oct 27).
Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf becomes Africa's first woman elected head of state (Nov. 11).
Israeli prime minister Ariel Sharon quits as head of the Likud Party, which he founded, to start a new, more
centrist organization, called Kadima (Nov. 21).
About 11 million Iraqis (70% of the country's registered voters) turn out to select their first permanent
Parliament since the overthrow of Saddam Hussein (Dec. 15). See also Iraq; Iraq Timeline.
George W. Bush is officially sworn in for his second term as president (Jan. 20).
In his State of the Union address, President Bush announces his plan to reform Social Security (Feb. 2).
Despite months of campaigning, his plan receives only a lukewarm reception.
The Terry Schiavo case becomes the focus of an emotionally charged battle in Congress (March 20).
Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O'Connor announces her retirement (July 1).
President Bush signs the Central American Free Trade Agreement (CAFTA), which will remove trade
barriers between the U.S. and Costa Rica, the Dominican Republic, El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, and
Nicaragua (Aug. 2).
Hurricane Katrina wreaks catastrophic damage on the Gulf coast; more than 1,000 die and millions are left
homeless. Americans are shaken not simply by the magnitude of the disaster but by how ill-prepared all
levels of government are in its aftermath. (Aug. 25-30). See also Hurricane Katrina Timeline.
Chief Justice William H. Rehnquist, who served on the U.S. Supreme Court for 33 years, dies (Sept. 3).
John Roberts becomes 17th chief justice of the U.S. Supreme Court (Sept 22).
Another major hurricane, Rita, ravages the Gulf coast (Sept. 23).
House majority leader Tom Delay is accused of conspiring to violate Texas's election laws. He steps aside
from his House leadership position (Sept. 28).
Number of deaths of U.S. soldiers in Iraq reaches 2,000 (Oct. 25).
President Bush selects Harriet Miers, White House counsel, to replace Justice Sandra Day O'Connor (Oct 3).
Miers withdraws her nomination after strong criticism from the president's conservative base (Oct. 27).
A federal grand jury indicts I. Lewis Libby, Vice President Cheney's chief of staff, with obstruction of justice
and perjury in connection with a White House leak investigation. (Oct. 28).
President Bush nominates conservative judge Samuel Alito to replace retiring Justice Sandra Day O'Connor
on the Supreme Court (Oct. 31).
California Republican congressman Randy "Duke" Cunningham resigns after pleading guilty to taking at
least $2.4 million in bribes (Nov. 28).
The Sept. 11 Public Discourse Project reports that the country is still "alarmingly vulnerable to terrorist
strikes." (Dec. 5).
The press reveals that in 2002, Bush signed a presidential order to allow the National Security Agency to spy
on Americans suspected of being connected to terrorist activity without warrants. (Dec. 15).
2006
Israeli prime minister Ariel Sharon suffers a massive stroke; he is replaced by acting prime minister Ehud
Olmert (Jan. 5).
Militant group Hamas wins 74 of 132 seats in Palestinian legislative elections (Jan. 25). Israeli leaders vote to
withhold $50 million per month (Feb. 19).
A Danish newspaper challenges taboos against illustrations of Muhammad by printing several negative
cartoons depicting him. Angry demonstrators throughout the Muslim world smash windows, set fires, and
burn flags of Denmark and other nations whose newspapers reprint the cartoons (Feb. 4 onward).
In Iraq, a coalition of Shiites and Kurds dominates the new government. Secretarian violence wracks the
country, killing tens of thousands, with fatality rates rising throughout the year; some observers describe the
situation as a civil war between Sunnis and Shiites. Several internal reports characterize the U.S. military
efforts as failing. See Iraq Timeline 2006.
After weeks of crippling student-led protests, French president Jacques Chirac repeals a new labor law that
would have made it easier for employers to fire workers under the age of 26 (Apr. 10).
In defiance of the U.N. Security Council, Iran president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad announces that Iran has
successfully enriched uranium (Apr. 11). The International Atomic Energy Agency reports to the Security
Council that it has found traces of highly enriched uranium at Iran's Natanz facility (July 31). U.N. Security
Council resolution bans the Iranian import and export of materials and technology used to enrich uranium
(Dec. 23).
North Korea test fires missiles over the Sea of Japan (July 4) and explodes a nuclear device in the North
Korean mountains (Oct. 9). The U.N. Security Council votes in favor of a resolution banning the sale of
materials to North Korea that could be used to produce weapons (Oct. 14). North Korea agrees to resume
disarmament talks with China, Russia, the U.S., and South Korea (Oct. 31).
India test-launches a missile with a range of 1,800 miles (July 9). More than 200 people die and hundreds
more are wounded when a series of bombs explode on commuter trains in Mumbai, India during the
evening rush hour (July 11).
Hezbollah, a Lebanese militant group, fires rockets into Israel. In response, Israel launches a major military
attack, sending thousands of troops into Lebanon. (July 13Aug. 15).
Saddam Hussein is convicted of crimes against humanity by an Iraqi court (Nov. 5), and hanged in Baghdad.
A witness videotapes the hanging using a cell phone and captures the chaos that unfolds as Shiite guards
taunt Hussein (Dec. 30).
President Bush signs a law renewing the Patriot Act, including a signing statement stating that he does not
consider himself bound by its requirement to tell Congress how the law is being used (Mar. 9).
House releases a report on the response to Hurricane Katrina, assigning blame on all levels of government
(Feb. 15).
Jack Abramoff, a lobbyist with ties to several members of Congress, is sentenced to six years in prison by a
Florida judge on fraud charges (Mar. 29).
George Bush and Tony Blair express regret for the abuse of prisoners at the Abu Ghraib prison, for removing
all Baathists from positions of power in Iraq, and for other missteps (May 25).
The Supreme Court rules that military tribunals cannot be set up to try prisoners in the absence of
Congressional authorization and that prisoners are entitled to fair trials under the Geneva Conventions
(June 29).
President Bush uses his veto power for the first time, striking down legislation that would have expanded the
number of stem cell lines available for embryonic research using federal financing. (July 19).
Democrats gain control of both houses of Congress in the midterm elections (Nov. 7).
John Bolton steps down as the U.S. ambassador to the United Nations when it becomes clear that he does
not have enough votes in the Senate to win confirmation (Dec. 4).
2007
Romania and Bulgaria join the European Union, bringing the number of member nations to 27 (Jan. 1).
Leaders of Hamas and Fatah, two rival Palestinian factions, meet in Mecca and reach a deal to end hostilities
and form a unity government (Feb. 7). The Palestinian legislature approves a Hamas-dominated unity
government (March 17). Hamas takes control of much of the Gaza Strip (June 13). Palestinian president
Mahmoud Abbas dissolves the government, fires Prime Minister Ismail Haniya, the leader of Hamas, and
declares a state of emergency (June 14).
The U.S. begins its "surge" of some 30,000 troops to Iraq to stem increasingly deadly attacks by insurgents
and militias (Feb. 7).
The International Court of Justice rules that the slaughter of some 8,000 Bosnian Muslims by Bosnian Serbs
in Srebrenica in 1995 was genocide (Feb. 26).
David Hicks, an Australian, pleads guilty to providing material support to al Qaeda. He's the first
Guantnamo Bay detainee to be convicted by a military commission (March 26).
Iranian troops detain 15 Britons (eight sailors and seven marines) claiming they were in Iranian territorial
waters (March 26). The detainees are freed (April 4).
Gerry Adams, the leader of Sinn Fein, and Rev. Ian Paisley, the head of the Democratic Unionist Party, meet
face-to-face for the first time and hash out an agreement for a power-sharing government (March 26).
Ukrainian president Viktor Yushchenko dissolves Parliament and accuses Prime Minister Viktor
Yanukovich of attempting to consolidate power (April 2).
President Vladimir Putin announces Russia will suspend the 1990 Conventional Armed Forces in Europe
Treaty, which limits conventional weapons in Europe (April 26).
In the second round of French presidential elections, Conservative candidate Nicolas Sarkozy defeats
Socialist candidate Sgolne Royal, 53.1% to 46.9% (May 6).
A commission that investigated 2006's war between Israel and Lebanon says Israeli prime minister Ehud
Olmert was responsible for "a severe failure in exercising judgment, responsibility, and prudence." It also
says Olmert rushed to war without an adequate plan (April 30).
Gordon Brown replaces Tony Blair as the prime minister of Great Britain (June 27).
Russian president Vladimir Putin announces that the country will suspend its participation in the
Conventional Forces in Europe Treaty, a cold-war era agreement that limits the deployment of heavy
weaponry (July 14).
India and U.S. reach an accord on civilian nuclear power that allows India, which has not signed the Nuclear
Nonproliferation Treaty, to buy nuclear fuel from the U.S. to expand its civilian nuclear energy program and
reprocess its spent fuel (July 27).
President Ramos-Horta names independence activist Xanana Gusmo as prime minister of East Timor (Aug.
6).
Two pairs of truck bombs explode about five miles apart in the remote, northwestern Iraqi towns of
Qahtaniya and Jazeera, killing at least 500 members of the minority Yazidi community, making it the single
deadliest insurgent attack of the war (Aug. 14).
Abdullah Gul, of the Justice and Development Party, is elected president of Turkey in the third round of
voting by the country's parliament. He is the first Islamist president in the country's modern history (Aug.
28).
Japanese prime minister Shinzo Abe abruptly announces his resignation. The move follows a string of
scandals and his party's recent defeat in parliamentary elections, in which his Liberal Democratic Party lost
control of the upper house to the opposition Democratic Party (Sep. 12). Yasuo Fukuda is elected prime
minister of Japan (Sep. 23).
Seventeen Iraqi civilians are killed when employees of private security company Blackwater USA reportedly
fire on a car that failed to stop at the request of a police officer (Sep. 16). The House Committee on Oversight
and Government Reform finds that employees of Blackwater USA have been involved in some 200 shootings
in Iraq. The report says the company paid some families of victims and tried to cover up other incidents (Oct.
1). The State Department announces that its own monitors will accompany Blackwater employees on all
security convoys (Oct. 5). An FBI report says 14 of the 17 shootings were unjustified and the guards were
reckless in their use of deadly force (Nov. 13).
Nuon Chea, who was second-in-command to Pol Pot during the four years of Khmer Rouge rule that led to
the state-sponsored massacre of between 1 million and 2 million Cambodians, is arrested and charged with
war crimes (Sep. 19).
After a month of peaceful pro-democracy demonstrations that include hundreds of monks, Burmese
government forces shoot at crowds, raid pagodas, and arrest monks. Dozens of people are killed. The
protests are the largest in Myanmar in 20 years (Sep. 26)
In a landmark deal, North Korea agrees to disclose details about its nuclear facilities, including how much
plutonium it has produced, and dismantle all of its nuclear facilities by the end of 2007. In exchange, the
country will receive some 950,000 metric tons of fuel oil or financial aid. The Bush administration will also
start the process of removing North Korea from its list of nations that sponsor terrorism (Oct. 1).
Pakistani president Pervez Musharraf is easily reelected to a third term by the country's national and
provincial assemblies. The opposition boycotts the vote, however, and only representatives from the
governing party participate in the election (Oct. 6). Former Pakistani prime minister Benazir Bhutto arrives
in Pakistan after eight years in exile (Oct. 18). Musharraf declares a state of emergency, suspends the
country's constitution and fires Chief Justice Iflikhar Muhammad Chaudhry and the other judges on the
Supreme Court (Nov. 3). The Supreme Court, filled with judges loyal to Musharraf, dismisses the case
challenging the constitutionality of Musharraf being elected president while head of the military (Nov. 22).
Former prime minister Nawaz Sharif returns to Pakistan after eight years in exile and demands that
Musharraf lift the emergency rule and reinstate the dismissed Supreme Court justices (Nov. 25). Musharraf
steps down as military chief. He is replaced by Gen. Ashfaq Parvez Kayani (Nov. 28). Musharraf is sworn in as
a civilian president (Nov. 29). Former Pakistani prime minister Benazir Bhutto is killed in a bombing at a
campaign rally in Rawalpindi (Dec. 27).
Cristina Fernndez de Kirchner is elected Argentina's first woman president. She succeeds her husband,
Nstor Kirchner (Oct. 28).
Australian prime minister John Howard loses to the Labor Party's Kevin Rudd (Nov. 24).
A National Intelligence Estimate says "with high confidence" that Iran froze its nuclear weapons program in
2003. The report contradicts one written in 2005 that stated Iran was determined to continue developing
such weapons (Dec. 3).
The African National Congress chooses Jacob Zuma as its leader, ousting South African president Thabo
Mbeki (Dec. 18).
Violence breaks out between rival tribes after preliminary results in Kenya's presidential elections show
opposition candidate Raila Odinga, of the Orange Democratic Movement, defeating incumbent Mwai
Kibaki, 57% to 39% (Dec. 27).
California Democrat Nancy Pelosi becomes the first woman speaker of the House and will preside over the
100th Congress. Democrats take control of both houses of Congress for the first time since 1994 (Jan. 4).
President Bush announces that a surge of an additional 20,000 troops will be deployed to Baghdad to try to
stem the sectarian fighting (Jan. 10).
The Senate confirms Mike McConnell as the director of National Intelligence (Feb. 6).
U.S. Army Maj. Gen. George Weightman is removed from his post as head of the Walter Reed Army Medical
Center. Army Secretary Francis Harvey steps down. Dismissals follow reports that patients have received
inadequate care, have been caught in a maze of bureaucratic red tape, and have been treated in dilapidated
facilities. (March 2). Bipartisan presidential commission, set up in response to the inadequate treatment of
troops at the Walter Reed Medical Center, suggests overhauling the system that makes disability and
compensation determinations and improving treatment for brain injuries and post traumatic stress (July 25).
Lewis Scooter Libby, former chief of staff to Vice President Dick Cheney, is found guilty of lying to FBI
agents and to a grand jury in the investigation of who leaked to the press the name of a covert CIA agent.
The agent, Valerie Plame Wilson, is married to Joseph Wilson, who in 2003 questioned the Bush
administrations claim that Saddam Hussein was pursuing a nuclear weapons program by seeking to obtain
uranium from Niger (March 6). Libby is sentenced to 30 months in jail (June 5). President Bush commutes his
sentence (July 2).
In hearings before the Senate and House, seven U.S. attorneys who were fired in late 2006 say they received
inappropriate calls from Republican lawmakers or Justice Department officials regarding corruption cases
they were investigating. They also say they felt pressured by the Justice Department to keep quiet about
their dismissals (March 6). Attorney General Alberto Gonzales tells Senate Judiciary Committee that
although the process in which U.S. attorneys were fired was flawed, the dismissals were justified. Gonzales
cites a bad memory more than 50 times when he fails to answer questions about key parts of the dismissal
process (April 19). Citing executive privilege, President Bush refuses to hand over any documents relating to
the firing of U.S. prosecutors in 2006 and instructs Harriet Miers, Bush's former counsel, and Sara Taylor,
the former deputy assistant to the president and White House director of political affairs, to also refuse to
testify (July 9). The House Judiciary Committee votes, 22 to 17, to hold Harriet Miers and White House chief
of staff Joshua Bolten in contempt for refusing to testify about the dismissals (July 25). The White House
announces that Alberto Gonzales has submitted his resignation (Aug. 27). Bush selects retired federal judge
Michael Mukasey to replace Alberto Gonzales (Sep. 17). The Senate votes, 53 to 40, to confirm Mukasey as
attorney general (Nov. 8).
Supreme Court rules, 54, that the Environmental Protection Agency has the authority to regulate
automobile emissions of heat-trapping gases and that the agency cannot shirk its responsibility to do so
unless it provides a scientific reason (April 2).
President Bush vetoes the $124 billion spending bill passed by Congress for the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.
The bill called on the Bush administration to establish benchmarks for the Iraqi government that, if met, set
a timetable for the withdrawal of U.S. troops from Iraq. It was only the second time in Bush's presidency that
he used the veto (May 1).
President Bush vetoes legislation, passed by Congress, that eases restrictions on federal funding of
embryonic stem cell research (June 7).
The minimum wage increases to $5.85, up from $5.15. It's the first increase in 10 years. The wage will increase
70 cents each year through 2009, when it will be $7.25 an hour (July 24).
President Bush signs law that legalizes government eavesdropping of telephone conversations and emails of
American citizens and people overseas without a warrant as long as there is a "reasonable belief" that one
party is not in the United States (Aug. 5).
Karl Rove, highly influential and controversial advisor to President Bush, announces his resignation (Aug.
13).
In highly anticipated testimony, Gen. David Petraeus tells members of the House Foreign Affairs and Armed
Services committees that the U.S. military needs more time to meet its goals in Iraq. U.S. Ambassador to Iraq
Ryan Crocker also testifies, saying that while Iraqi leaders and the people are capable ofand desire to
bridge the sectarian divide, "I frankly do not expect that we will see rapid progress" (Sep. 10).
President Bush signs an energy bill that requires passenger vehicles sold in the U.S. to have fuel economy
standards of 35 mpg by 2020, a 40% increase over the current standard. Measure also calls for an increase in
the production of ethanol and other biofuels to 36 billion gallons a year by 2022, up from the current 5 billion
(Dec. 19).
2008
Jan. 131: Tribal violence erupts in Kenya after December 2007's presidential election between Raila Odinga,
of the Orange Democratic Movement, and incumbent president Mwai Kibaki. More than 800 people die in
violence across the country. Preliminary results had Odinga defeating Kibaki, 57% to 39%. In the days after
the election, however, Odinga's lead dwindled and Kenya's electoral commission declared Kibaki the
winner, 46% to 44%. International observers said the vote was rigged.
Jan. 6: President of Georgia, Mikheil Saakashvili, is reelected, taking 52% of the vote. He had called for early
elections in November 2007, after massive protests prompted by accusations that he abused power and
stifled dissent.
Jan. 31: Final report by an Israeli-government-appointed panel, the Winograd Commission, on Israel's 2006
war against the militant group Hezbollah in Lebanon, calls the operation a "large and serious" failure and
criticizes the country's leadership for failing to have an exit strategy in place before the invasion.
Feb. 10: Three men wearing ski masks steal four pieces of artwork from the Zurich Museum in one of the
largest art robberies in history. In broad daylight, the robbers took a Cezanne, a Degas, a van Gogh, and a
Monet, with a combined worth of $163 million. Feb. 18: Two of the paintings, the Monet and the van Gogh,
are found in perfect condition in the backseat of an unlocked car in Zurich.
Feb. 17: Kosovo's prime minister Hashim Thaci declares independence from Serbia. Serbian prime minister
Vojislav Kostunica says he would never recognize the "false state." International reaction is mixed, with the
United States, France, Germany, and Britain indicating that they plan to recognize Kosovo as the world's
195th country.
Feb. 19: Cuban president Fidel Castro, who temporarily handed power to his brother Ral in July 2006 when
he fell ill, permanently steps down after 49 years in power.
March 2: Dmitri A. Medvedev, a former aide to Russian president Vladimir Putin, wins the presidential
election in a landslide. Putin will remain in a position of power, serving as Medvedev's prime minister.
March 10: Some 400 Buddhist monks participate in a protest march in Lhasa, the capital of Tibet, to
commemorate 1959's failed uprising against China's invasion and occupation of Tibet. March 14: Violence
breaks out, with ethnic Tibetans clashing with Chinese citizens. Chinese police suppress the demonstrations,
and Tibetan leaders say that more than 100 Tibetans are killed.
April 2: Zimbabwe's Morgan Tsvangirai, of the opposition Movement for Democratic Change, says he won
50.3% of the vote in March 29's presidential election, defeating Robert Mugabe, who has been in power since
1980. April 14: The High Court of Zimbabwe dismisses the opposition's request for the release of election
results. The government cracks down on the opposition.
April 11: In Nepal, millions of voters turn out to elect a 601-seat Constituent Assembly that will write a new
constitution. Maoist rebels win 120 out of 240 directly elected seats.
May 2: More than a month after the presidential election, Zimbabwe officials announce that opposition
candidate Morgan Tsvangirai, leader of the Movement for Democratic Change, defeated incumbent Robert
Mugabe, 47.9% to 43.2%. A runoff election is necessary because neither candidate won more than 50%.
May 28: Nepal's newly elected Constituent Assembly votes to dissolve the 239-year-old monarchy and form a
republic. King Gyanendra is told he must step down within 15 days.
June 19: Egypt brokers a cease-fire between Israel and Hamas, the militant group that controls the Gaza
Strip. The agreement is intended to stem the violence in the region.
June 22: Morgan Tsvangirai, of Zimbabwe's Movement for Democracy and Change, who was to face
incumbent president Robert Mugabe in a runoff election, withdraws from the race, saying he could not
subject his supporters to violence and intimidation. June 27: Mugabe wins the second round of the election,
with about 85% of the vote.
July 2: After being held for nearly six years by Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC) rebels in
Colombia, 15 hostages, including three U.S. military contractors and French-Colombian politician Ingrid
Betancourt, are freed by commandos who infiltrated FARC's leadership.
July 14: Luis Moreno-Ocampo, the prosecutor of the International Criminal Court, formally charges Sudan's
president, Omar Hassan al-Bashir, with genocide for planning and executing the decimation of Darfur's
three main ethnic tribes: the Fur, the Masalit, and the Zaghawa.
July 21: Radovan Karadzic, the Bosnian Serb president during the war in Bosnia in the 1990s, is arrested
outside Belgrade and charged with genocide, persecution, deportation, and other crimes against non-Serb
civilians. Karadzic orchestrated the massacre of almost 8,000 Muslim men and boys in 1995 in Srebrenica.
July 30: Karadzic is transferred to The Hague to await trial.
Aug. 7: Fighting breaks out after Georgian soldiers attack South Ossetia, a breakaway enclave in Georgia that
won de facto independence in the early 1990s. Separatists in South Ossetia retaliate. Aug. 8: Russia enters the
fray, with troops and tanks pouring into South Ossetia to support the region. Aug. 9 and 10: Russia intensifies
its involvement, moving troops into Abkhazia, another breakaway region, and launching airstrikes at Tbilisi,
the capital of Georgia. Aug. 13: France brokers a deal between Russia and Georgia. President George Bush
sends U.S. troops on a humanitarian mission to Georgia. He warns Russia that if it doesn't observe the cease-
fire, the country risks its standing in "the diplomatic, political, economic, and security structures of the 21st
century." Aug. 29: Russia and Georgia sever diplomatic ties from each other. It is the first time Russia has cut
off formal relations with one of its former republics, which gained independence in 1991.
Aug. 7: Pakistan's governing coalition, led by Asif Ali Zardari, of the Pakistan Peoples Party, and Nawaz
Sharif, leader of the Pakistan Muslim League-N, begins impeachment proceedings against President Pervez
Musharraf on charges of violating the constitution and misconduct. Aug. 18: Musharraf resigns as president.
Aug. 15: Nepal's Constituent Assembly elects Maoist leader Pushpa Kamal Dahal, known as Prachanda, as
prime minister.
Aug. 22: As many as 90 Afghan civilians, 60 of them children, die in an airstrike by coalition troops in the
western village of Azizabad. It is one of the deadliest airstrikes since the war began in 2001, and the deadliest
for civilians. The U.S. military refutes the figures, which were confirmed by the UN.
Sep. 2: Thai prime minister Samak Sundaravej declares a state of emergency when protests between
government supporters and the opposition, People's Alliance for Democracy (PAD), which is calling for
Samak's resignation, turn violent. Sep. 9: Samak is forced from office when Thailand's Constitutional Court
rules that he violated the constitution by being paid to appear on a cooking show. Somchai Wongsawat, the
first deputy prime minister, becomes acting prime minister. Sep. 17: Parliament elects Somchai prime
minister.
Sep. 6: Asif Ali Zardari, leader of the Pakistan Peoples Party and the widower of former Pakistani prime
minister Benazir Bhutto, wins 481 out of 702 votes in the two houses of Parliament to become president.
Sep. 15: In Zimbabwe, President Robert Mugabe and opposition leader Morgan Tsvangirai, who defeated
Mugabe 48% to 43% in March 2008 elections but boycotted the June runoff election because of voter
intimidation, agree to a power-sharing deal. Tsvangirai will serve as prime minister and the opposition will
control 16 ministries. The governing party will control 15; Mugabe will continue as president.
Sep. 20: A truck bomb explodes outside the Marriott Hotel in Islamabad, Pakistan, killing more than 50
people and wounding hundreds. A previously unknown group, Fedayeen Islam, takes responsibility for the
attack.
Sep. 21: Israeli prime minister Ehud Olmert, who is under investigation for corruption, resigns.
Sep. 24: Japan's Taro Aso, a conservative and former foreign minister, becomes prime minister, succeeding
Yasuo Fukuda, who stepped down amid criticism of his handling of domestic issues.
Oct. 1: The Iraqi government takes command of 54,000 mainly Sunni fighters from the U.S., which had been
paying the fighters for their support. The fighters, members of awakening councils, turned against al-Qaeda
in Mesopotamia in 2007 and began siding with the U.S.
Nov. 16: Iraq's cabinet passes by a large margin a status of forces agreement that will govern the U.S.
presence in Iraq through 2011. The pact calls for the withdrawal of all U.S. combat troops by Dec. 31, 2011, and
the removal of U.S. troops from Iraqi cities by the summer of 2009. In addition, the agreement gives Iraqi
officials increased jurisdiction over serious crimes committed by off-duty Americans who are off base when
the crimes occur. Nov. 27: The Iraqi Parliament votes, 149 to 35, to approve the status of forces agreement.
Dec. 4: The Presidencial Council, made up of Iraq's president and two vice presidents, gives final approval to
the status of forces agreement.
Nov. 26: More than 170 people are killed and about 300 are wounded in a series of attacks on several
landmarks and commercial hubs in Mumbai, India. Indian officials say ten gunmen carried out the attack. It
took Indian forces three days to end the siege. Deccan Mujahedeen, a previously unknown group, claims
responsibility for the attacks. Pakistan officials deny any involvement in the attacks, but some Indian
officials hint that they suspect Pakistani complicity.
Dec. 2: Thailand's Constitutional Court ruling that the governing People Power engaged in fraud during the
2007 elections forces Prime Minister Somchai Wongsawat from power and bans party members from
politics for five years. Dec. 15: Parliament elects Abhisit Vejjajiva, the head of the Democrat Party, as prime
minister.
Dec. 14: At a news conference in Baghdad, a reporter for Al Baghdadia, a Cairo-based satellite television
network, hurls his shoes at President Bush and calls him a "dog." The shoes narrowly miss Bush's head.
Dec. 22: Guinea's despotic president, Lansana Conte, dies after 24 years in power. Dec. 24: Junior army
leaders launch a coup. Army captain Moussa Camara takes over as president of the republic.
Dec. 28: Days after a cease-fire between Israel and Hamas expired, Hamas begins launching rocket attacks
into Israel, which retaliates with airstrikes that kill about 300 people. Israel targets Hamas bases, training
camps, and missile storage facilities.
Jan. 3: The presidential primary season begins with Democrat Barack Obama and Republican Mike
Huckabee.
Feb. 5: Arizona senator John McCain emerges as the clear front runner among Republicans in the Super
Tuesday primary races. On the Democratic side, New York senator Hillary Clinton wins big states such as
California and Massachusetts, but Illinois senator Barack Obama takes more states.
March 4: Sen. John McCain has enough delegates to secure the Republican presidential nomination.
March 8: President George W. Bush, saying intelligence officials must have "all the tools they need to stop
the terrorists," vetoes legislation that would have outlawed all methods of interrogation that are banned in
the Army Field Manual, which prohibits waterboarding and other harsh techniques that have been used by
the CIA.
March 18: Sen. Barack Obama delivers a pivotal speech on race, denouncing the provocative remarks on race
made by his former pastor, Rev. Jeremiah Wright, Jr., but explains that the complexities of race in America
have fueled anger and resentment among many African Americans.
March 11: The government begins to intervene in the U.S. financial system to avoid a crisis. The Federal
Reserve outlines a $200 billion loan program that lets the country's biggest banks borrow Treasury securities
at discounted rates and post mortgage-backed securities as collateral. March 16: The Federal Reserve
approves a $30 billion loan to JPMorgan Chase so it can take over Bear Stearns, which is on the verge of
collapse.
May 15: California's Supreme Court rules, 4 to 3, that same-sex couples have a constitutional right to marry.
May 20: Senator Edward Kennedy, a Democrat from Massachusetts who's been in office since 1963, is
diagnosed with malignant glioma, a brain tumor.
June 3: On the final day of the 2008 primary season, Sen. Barack Obama secures 2,154 delegates and becomes
the presumptive Democratic presidential nominee. He's the first black candidate to head a major party ticket
in a presidential election. Aug. 28: Obama accepts the Democratic presidential nomination, becoming the
first African American to be selected by a major party as its nominee for president.
June 12: The U.S. Supreme Court rules, 5 to 4, that prisoners at Guantnamo Bay, Cuba, have a right to
challenge their detention in federal court.
June 26: The U.S. Supreme Court rules, 5 to 4, that the Constitution protects an individual's right to possess a
gun, but insists that the ruling "is not a right to keep and carry any weapon whatsoever in any manner
whatsoever and for whatever purpose."
Sep. 4: Sen. John McCain accepts the the Republican presidential nomination.
Sep. 29: An internal inquiry by the U.S. Justice Department's inspector general and its Office of Professional
Responsibility reports "significant evidence that political partisan considerations were an important factor in
the removal of several of the U.S. attorneys." (Nine federal prosecutors were fired in 2006.)
Oct. 1: The U.S. Senate ratifies an agreement that allows India to buy nuclear fuel on the world market for its
reactors as long as it uses the fuel for civilian purposes only.
Oct. 10: Connecticut's Supreme Court rules that a state law that limits marriage to heterosexual couples and
a civil union law that protects gay couples violate equal protection rights guaranteed by the constitution.
Oct. 27: A jury finds Sen. Ted Stevens (R-AK) guilty of seven felony charges for lying on financial disclosure
forms and failing to report more than $250,000 in gifts from the VECO Corporation, one of Alaska's biggest
oil-field contractors.
Nov. 4: Democratic senator Barack Obama wins the presidential election against Sen. John McCain, taking
338 electoral votes to McCain's 161. Obama becomes the first African American to be elected president of the
United States. Also in the election, Democrats increase their majority in the House and pick up five seats in
the Senate.
Nov. 4: Voters in California narrowly pass a ballot measure, Proposition 8, that overturns the May 15, 2008,
California Supreme Court decision that said same-sex couples have a constitutional right to marry.
Dec. 19: President George W. Bush announces plans to lend General Motors and Chrysler $17.4 billion to
survive the next three months.
2009
Jan. 3: After more than a week of intense air strikes, Israeli troops crossed the border into Gaza, launching a
ground war against the militant Palestinian group, Hamas. More than 430 Palestinians and 4 Israelis have
been killed since the fighting began Dec. 27, 2008. Jan. 17: Israel announces unilateral cease-fire in Gaza.
Hamas says it will continue to fight as long as Israeli troops remain in the area. Jan. 18: Hamas announces
cease-fire in response to Israel's promise of peace.
Jan. 31: Iraq holds local elections to create provincial councils. More than 14,000 people run for just 440 seats
on councils around the country. The elections are notable for their lack of violence and the noticeably
diminished role the U.S. played in their implementation.
Feb. 1: Johanna Sigurdardottir takes office as Iceland's first female prime minister.
Feb. 7: The worst wildfires in Australia's history kill at least 181 people in the state of Victoria, injure more
than a hundred, and destroy more than 900 homes.
March 3: A group of 12 gunmen in Pakistan attack the national cricket team of Sri Lanka and their police
escorts. Six policemen are killed in the attack, as well as two bystanders.
March 4: The International Criminal Court issues an arrest warrant for the president of Sudan, Omar
Hassan Ahmad al Bashir, charging him with war crimes and crimes against humanity in the Darfur region.
March 17: Madagascar's president Marc Ravalomanana resigns after a bitter, three-month-long power
struggle with opposition leader Andry Rajoelina. Ravalomanana hands power over to the military, which in
turn transfers control to Andry Rajoelina.
April 1: Sweden becomes the fifth European country to legalize same-sex marriage. The other countries with
the same rights are The Netherlands, Norway, Belgium and Spain.
April 26: H1N1 (swine flu) has killed as many as 103 people in Mexico, most likely the epicenter of the
worldwide outbreak. April 29: At least 150 in Mexico are dead from H1N1.
May 1: For the first time in 341 years, a woman is appointed as poet laureate of the United Kingdom. Carol
Ann Duffy, 53, will take over the post from current poet laureate Andrew Motion.
June 1: In the worst aviation disaster since 2001, Air France Flight 447 disappears somewhere off the
northeast coast of Brazil with 228 people on board, en route from Rio de Janeiro to Paris.
June 8: A court in North Korea convicts American journalists Euna Lee and Laura Ling of "illegal entry" and
sentences them to 12 years in a labor prison. The women were employed by Current TV and were arrested in
March while working on a story about North Korean refugees.
June 13: Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad wins his reelection campaign by a landslide victory with
almost 63% of the vote, while main challenger Mir Hussein Moussavi receives just under 34%. Accusations of
ballot tampering and fraud leads to wide-scale and deadly protests in Tehran. June 21: The death toll in the
Iranian protests reaches at least 17, according to state media. June 22: The Guardian Council, Iran's oversight
group, admits to irregularities in the recent presidential election, revealing that votes counted in about 50
cities exceed the number of eligible voters by 3 million. They claim the mistake does not affect the final
election result, however. June 30: The Guardian Council of Iran announces that the election of President
Ahmadinejad is valid.
June 28: Honduran president Manuel Zelaya is ousted by a military coup. Zelaya had faced wide criticism
recently for attempting to extend presidential term limits. June 30: Roberto Micheletti, named the interim
president by the Honduran Congress, threatens Zelaya with arrest if he returns to the country.
June 30: As a signal of the United States' diminishing role in Iraq, and in compliance with the status of forces
agreement between the U.S. and Iraq, U.S. troops complete their withdrawal from Iraqi cities, including
Baghdad, and transfer the responsibility of securing the cities to Iraqi troops. Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki
names June 30 "National Sovereignty Day" and declares a public holiday.
July 6: Rioting in Urumqi, China between two ethnic groupsMuslim Uighurs and Han Chinesekills at
least 156 people.
Aug. 4: The government of North Korea pardons two imprisoned American journalists after former
President Bill Clinton visits the country and its president, Kim Jong-il. Laura Ling and Euna Lee were
arrested in March and sentenced in June to 12 years in prison for "illegal entry" into the country.
Aug. 5: Controversial president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad begins his second term amid a crisis in Iran sparked
by the June election that was widely condemned as rigged in Ahmadinejad's favor. The vote set off protests
that resulted in mass arrests of opposition figures, journalists, and lawyers.
Aug. 5: Baitullah Mehsud, the leader of the Taliban in Pakistan, is killed by a C.I.A. drone strike in South
Waziristan. The assassination of Benazir Bhutto, the former prime minister of Pakistan, the terrorist attack
on the Marriott Hotel in Islamabad, Pakistan in Sept. 2008, and dozens of other suicide bombings have been
attributed to Mehsud.
Aug. 20: Abdel Basset Ali al-Megrahi, the Libyan terrorist convicted of bombing of Pan Am Flight 103, which
exploded over Lockerbie, Scotland in 1988 and killed 270 people, is freed from prison on compassionate
grounds by Scotland's Justice Minister, Kenny MacAskill. He is suffering from terminal prostate cancer and
is expected to die within three months.
Aug. 30: Japan's opposition party, the Democrats, win in a landslide over the ruling Liberal Democrats, who
have been in power nearly uninterrupted for a half-century.
Aug. 20: Afghanistan holds provincial and presidential elections. Violence spiked in the days leading up to
the elections. More than 30 candidates challenged incumbent President Hamid Karzai, with Abdullah
Abdullah as the most formidable contender. Early results put Karzai well ahead of Abdullah, but allegations
of widespread and blatant fraud surfaced immediately. Sept. 8: The United Nations-backed commission that
is reviewing the presidential election in Afghanistan orders a recount of the votes, citing evidence of fraud.
Oct. 31: Abdullah Abdullah withdraws from the second round of Afghanistan's presidential race in
Afghanistan in protest of the Karzai administration's refusal to dismiss election officials accused of taking
part in the widespread fraud that marred the first round of the election. Results released earlier in October
showed that Karzai came up short in garnering 50% of the vote, necessitating a second round of voting. Nov.
20: Karzai is sworn in as the president of Afghanistan, marking the beginning of his second five-year term.
Oct. 2:Rio de Janeiro, Brazil wins the bid for the 2016 Olympics and will be the first South American city to
host the Games. Rio beat Tokyo, Madrid, and Chicago, Ill.
Oct. 25: Two suicide bombings in Baghdad, Iraq kill at least 155 people and wound 500 others. These are the
deadliest attacks in the country since 2007, and raise the question of the safety of Iraq.
Oct. 30: The U.S. brokers an agreement between ousted Honduran president Manuel Zelaya and selfappointed leader of the country, Roberto Micheletti, that left Zelaya's reinstatement up to a congressional
vote, called for the establishment of a government of national unity and a truth commission, and required
Zelaya to abandon a referendum on constitutional reform. Nov. 19: Micheletti agrees to temporarily cede
power to his cabinet ministers while awaiting presidential election day, scheduled for November 29. (Nov.
29): Conservative candidate Porfirio Lobo wins the presidential election, beating his main opponent, Elvn
Santos, by a wide margin.
Nov. 5: Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas announces he will not seek reelection in Jan. 2010's general
and presidential elections, citing the protracted impasse between Israelis and Palestinians and the United
States' failure to aggressively take steps toward negotiating a settlement.
At least 21 men and women are killed and 22 are missing in a rash of election-related violence in the
Philippines. The victims were en route to file candidacy papers for Esmael Mangudadatu, who intends to
run for governor of Maguindanao, a province on the island of Mindanao. Family members of Mangudadatu
are among the dead. Nov. 25: The number of victims in the Philippines election killings rises to 57.
Authorities voice their suspicion of a powerful clan tied to President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo; Andal
Ampatuan Jr., the son of the current governor of Maguindanao and the prime suspect in the murders, turns
himself in.
Dec. 5: An Italian jury convicts Amanda Knox, an American student, of murdering her former roommate,
English student Meredith Kercher, in 2007. Knox and Kercher were exchange students in Italy at the time.
Knox's then-boyfriend, Raffaele Sollecito, was also convicted. They received prison sentences of 26 and 25
years, respectively.
Dec. 18: President Barack Obama announces that the U.S., China, India, Brazil, and South Africa have
reached an agreement to combat global warming. The accord that will set up a system for monitoring
pollution reduction, require richer nations to give billions of dollars to poorer nations more greatly affected
by climate change, and set a goal of limiting the global temperature rise to 2 degrees Celsius above
preindustrial levels by 2050.
Jan. 15: After allegedly striking a flock of geese, US Airways Flight 1549, en route from La Guardia Airport,
New York City, to Charlotte, N.C., is forced to land in the Hudson River. All 150 passengers and 5 crew
members survived. The pilot, Chesley B. "Sully" Sullenberger III, was hailed as the "Hero of the Hudson" for
his quick thinking and deft landing of the plane.
Jan. 20: Hundreds of thousands of people watched in front of the Capitol as President Barack Obama and
Vice President Joe Biden are sworn into office. Obama makes history as the first African-American
president.
Jan. 22: President Obama signs executive orders closing all secret prisons and detention camps run by the
CIA, including the infamous Guantnamo Bay prison in Cuba, and banning coercive interrogation methods.
Jan. 31: Michael Steele is selected by the Republican National Committee to be its new chairman. He is the
first African-American to hold the position.
Feb. 27: President Obama announces his intention to withdraw most American troops from Iraq by August
31, 2010. As many as 50,000 troops will remain there for smaller missions and to train Iraqi soldiers.
March 2: Insurance giant American International Group reports a $61.7 billion loss for the fourth quarter of
2008. A.I.G. lost $99.3 billion in 2008. The federal government, which has already provided the company
with a $60 billion loan, will be giving A.I.G. an additional $30 billion, making it the largest company loan the
government has provided during the bailout. March 14: A.I.G. announces they will pay top executives more
than $165 million in bonuses, despite having received $170 billion in bailout funds from the U.S. government.
The company claims the bonuses were promised in contracts and are no longer negotiable. Nearly 80% of
A.I.G. is now owned by the federal government. March 16: President Obama has asked Treasury Secretary
Timothy Geithner to pursue all "legal avenues" in order to block the bonuses to A.I.G. executives.
March 6: Unemployment in the U.S., which has been steadily growing for several months, reaches 8.1% in
February 2009. This is the highest rate since 1983.
March 12: Bernard Madoff, who has admitted to operating a massive Ponzi scheme that defrauded his many
clients out of billions of dollars over the past 20 years, pleads guilty to 11 counts of fraud, money laundering,
perjury and theft. The judge revoked bail and remanded the financial swindler due to his relatively high
flight risk.
April 2: Rod Blagojevich, the former governor of Illinois charged with attempting to sell President Obama's
vacated senate seat to the highest bidder, is indicted on 19 charges, 16 of them felonies.
April 3: The Iowa Supreme Court unanimously rejects a state law banning same-sex marriage. April 27:
Same-sex couples are granted marriage licenses for the first time in Iowa. Iowa is the third state to allow
same-sex marriages, after Massachusetts and Connecticut.
April 7: Vermont becomes the fourth U.S. state to legalize same-sex marriage, just days after Iowa becomes
the third. The legislature votes to override Governor Jim Douglas's veto of a bill allowing same-sex couples
to marry, nine years after the state became the first in the nation to allow civil unions. Vermont is the first
state legislature to legalize the practice; the other three U.S. states' approval of same-sex marriage came from
the courts.
April 13: President Obama announces that Cuban-Americans will no longer be restricted from visiting and
sending money home to family. American companies will also be able to provide telephone services to Cuba.
The original embargo will remain in effect until Congress votes otherwise.
April 26: After confirming 20 cases of swine flu in the United States, including eight in New York City, the
U.S. declares the outbreak a public health emergency.
April 30: Justice David H. Souter announces he is retiring from the U.S. Supreme Court when the current
term ends in June. He was appointed by President George H. W. Bush in 1990. This will be the first Supreme
Court pick for President Obama.
May 6: Gov. John Baldacci of Maine signs a bill legalizing same-sex marriage. The law will not go into effect
until summer 2009.
May 11: Gen. David McKiernan, the top U.S. commander in Afghanistan, is fired and replaced by Lt. Gen.
Stanley McChrystal. Defense Secretary Robert Gates says McKiernan brought too conventional an approach
to the war and the Pentagon wanted a more innovative leader.
May 26: President Obama announces his nomination of New York federal appeals judge Sonia Sotomayor to
the Supreme Court.
May 26: The California Supreme Court upholds the ban on same-sex marriage, solidifying the vote made by
California residents last November. The 18,000 same-sex couples who were married before the ban went to
effect are still legally married, however.
June 4: In a speech during a visit to Cairo, Egypt, President Obama calls for "a new beginning between the
United States and Muslims around the world," asking for new alliances based on mutual respect and
common interests.
June 18: The Supreme Court rules in a 54 decision that prisoners have no right to a DNA test to prove their
innocence long after they are convicted of a crime. The Court claims that most states already have laws in
effect concerning DNA testing, so a federal law is unnecessary.
June 25: Michael Jackson, lifelong musician, pop singer, and superstar, dies at age 50. He is found
unconscious in his home, then rushed to a Los Angeles hospital where he is pronounced dead.
June 30: Nearly eight months after the election and a long battle over a recount, the Minnesota Supreme
Court rules that Al Franken (Dem.) wins the U.S. senate seat for Minnesota. The final recount gives Franken
a 312-vote lead. His rival, Norm Coleman (Rep.) concedes. Franken's win gives the Democrats in the Senate
the filibuster-proof 60-seat majority they have been hoping for.
July 3: Sarah Palin, the first-term Republican governor of Alaska and former vice-presidential candidate,
announces her resignation. Palin cites a desire to spend more time with her family and a lack of interest in
running for reelection in 2010. Lt. Gov, Sean Parnell will take over for her.
Aug. 6: The Senate approves, 68 to 31, the nomination of Sonia Sotomayor to the U.S. Supreme Court. She's
the first Hispanic Supreme Court justice and the third woman to serve on the Court.
Aug. 25: Senator Edward "Ted" Kennedy, a fixture in the Senate for 46 years, dies of brain cancer at the age of
77. Sep. 24: Massachusetts Governor Deval Patrick names Paul Kirk, former Democratic National Committee
chairman and friend of the late Ted Kennedy, as Kennedy's temporary replacement in the Senate.
Oct. 1: President Obama signs an executive order banning federal workers from texting while driving.
Oct. 19: The federal government announces it will no longer prosecute those who use or sell marijuana for
medical reasons, if they are complying with state law.
Nov. 3: Maine voters overturn a law allowing same-sex marriage, which had been instated by the state
governor in May 2009. Maine is the 31st state to block same-sex marriage through a public referendum.
Nov. 5: A shooting at the Fort Hood army post in Texas kills 13 and injures 29. Ten of those killed are military
personnel, while one is a civilian. Maj. Nidal Malik Hasan, an army psychiatrist, is the alleged shooter. He
was shot four times by an officer on the scene, but he survived the attack. Nov. 12: Hasan is charged with 13
counts of premeditated murder; he will be tried in military court.
Nov. 10: John Allen Muhammad, known as the D.C. sniper who killed 10 people in shooting spree in
Maryland and Virginia in 2002, is executed in a Virginia prison.
Dec. 1: President Obama announces that the U.S. military will be sending an additional 30,000 troops to
Afghanistan, in an attempt to prevent further Taliban insurgencies. The troop surge will begin in Jan. 2010,
and will bring the total number of American troops in Afghanistan to 100,000.
Dec. 25: A Nigerian man on a flight from Amsterdam to Detroit allegedly attempted to ignite an explosive
device hidden in his underwear. The explosive device that failed to detonate was a mixture of powder and
liquid that did not alert security personnel in the airport. The alleged bomber, Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab,
told officials later that he was directed by the terrorist group Al Qaeda. (Dec. 26): Officials charge Abdul
Farouk Abdulmutallab with trying to blow up the Detroit-bound airliner on Christmas Day. The suspect
was already on the government's watch list when he attempted the bombing; his father, a respected Nigerian
banker, had told the U.S. government that he was worried about his son's increased extremism. (Dec. 28): Al
Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula, a group based in Yemen, takes responsibility for orchestrating the attack.
Jan. 29: President Obama signs his first bill into law: the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act, an equal-pay act. The
law expands workers' rights to sue in pay disputes.
Jan. 9: Unemployment is at a 16-year high, 7.2%, according to the Labor Department. 524,000 jobs were lost in
December 2008, for a total of 2.6 million in 2008.
The U.S. Labor Department reports that January 2009 saw 598,000 jobs lost, the highest number since
December 1974.!
Feb. 17: President Obama signs the $787 billion stimulus package into law. The president's hope is that the
package will create 3.5 million jobs for Americans in the next two years.
April 30: Chrysler files for bankruptcy protection while entering into a partnership agreement with Fiat. It is
the first time since 1933 that an American automaker has been forced to restructure under bankruptcy
protection.
June 1: General Motors files for bankruptcy and announces it will close 14 plants in the United States.
Sept. 9: The Federal Reserve releases a survey that concludes that the economy is showing signs of slow
recovery. Credit conditions and retail sales remain down, but other aspects of the economy, such as
employer hiring in some markets, are improving.
Oct. 21: The Obama administration orders pay cuts for the top-paid employees at those firms that received
the most stimulus money. The top 25 earners at seven of the companies that received the most taxpayer
money will have compensation cut up to 50%.
2010
Jan. 12: 7.0-magnitude earthquake devastates Port-au-Prince, Haiti. It is the region's worst earthquake in 200
years. The quake levels many sections of the city, destroying government buildings, foreign aid offices, and
countless slums. Jan. 13: Assessing the scope of the devastation, Prime Minister Prval says, "Parliament has
collapsed. The tax office has collapsed. Schools have collapsed. Hospitals have collapsed." He calls the death
toll "unimaginable," and expects fatalities to near 100,000. The United Nations mission in Haiti is destroyed,
16 members of the UN peacekeeping force in Haiti are killed, and hundreds of UN employees are missing.
The death toll was 200,000 people.
Feb. 12: The 2010 Winter Olympics opened in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. The games got off to a
tragic start when a luger from the Republic of Georgia, Nodar Kumaritashvili, dies tragically in a crash
during training run.
Feb. 12: Multi-country offensive launched in Afghanistan as thousands of American, Afghan, and British
troops storm the city of Marja, Afghanistan in an attempt to destroy the Taliban's latest haven. The attack by
the 6,000 troops is the biggest offensive in the country since the United States invaded Afghanistan in 2001.
Feb. 15: The Taliban's top military commander, Mullah Abdul Ghani Baradar, is captured in Karachi,
Pakistan in a secret joint operation by the American and Pakistani intelligence forces. American officials
claim that Barader is the most significant human capture since the war in Afghanistan began in 2001. Feb. 22:
A NATO airstrike launched by the United States Special Forces in Kabul, Afghanistan, targeted at
insurgents, accidentally kills 27 Afghan civilians. President Hamid Karzai condemns the killings.
Feb. 27: An 8.8 magnitude earthquake rocks Chile. Fatalities are relatively low, with some 750 people killed in
the devastation. However, as many as 1.5 million people are displaced. Chile's electricity grids,
communication, and transportation systems are badly damaged, severely hampering rescue and aid efforts.
The epicenter of the quake was 70 miles northeast of Concepcion in central Chile. Massive waves continue
to cause additional damage along the coast. Mar. 1: After refusing contributions from foreign governments,
Chile officials change course, requesting generators, water filtration equipment, and field hospitals from
other countries.
Mar. 7: Explosions disrupt general election day in Iraq when two bombs kill at least 38 people. Iraq's election
commission reports that 62% of Iraqis voted in the election, though that number drops to just 53% in
Baghdad, where the violence occurred. Final results are not expected for several weeks, but preliminary
figures put the State of Law alliance, led by Prime Minister Maliki, and the Iraqi National Movement, headed
by former prime minister Ayad Allawi, in a close race ahead of the other candidates. Election officials said
none of the alliances will emerge with a clear majority, forcing the winner to assemble a broad coalition to
form a government. Mar. 29: Final results of the election give the Iraqi National Movement, led by former
prime minister Ayad Allawi, 91 seats in Parliament out of 325. The State of Law alliance, headed by Prime
Minister Maliki comes in a close second with 89 seats. A Shia religious movement, including followers of
radical cleric Moktada al-Sadr, wins 70. The two main Kurdish parties together receive 43 seats. Maliki
refuses to accept the results and says he will challenge them in court.
Mar. 24: The United States and Russia report a breakthrough in arms control negotiations. Both countries
agree to lower the limit on deployed strategic warheads and launchers by 25% and 50%, respectively, and
will also implement a new inspection regime. President Obama and President Medvedev will sign in a treaty
that outlines this agreement. Apr. 8: The United States and Russia usher in a supposedly new era in nuclear
arms control after President Obama and President Medvedev sign an arms reduction treaty and agree to act
in a united fashion against the threat of Iran's nuclear program. The pact, called the New Start, has each
country promise to scale back on their nuclear arsenals.
Mar. 29: Two female suicide bombers, acting just minutes apart, detonate bombs in two Moscow subways
stations, killing at least 39 people. This is the first terrorist attack in the capital city since 2004, when Moscow
experienced a string of deadly violence. Authorities attribute the attacks to the mostly Muslim north
Caucasus region. Doku Umarov, a former Chechen separatist and the self-proclaimed emir of the north
Caucasus, claims responsibility for masterminding the attack. Mar. 31: Two explosions kill 12 people in the
north Caucasus region of Dagestan. The attacks prompt concern that Prime Minister Putin will crack down
on civil liberties and democracy as he did in 2004, following the siege of a school in Beslan.
Apr. 5: Militants launch an assault on the United States Consulate in Pakistan. Six Pakistanis are killed and
20 are wounded; no Americans are harmed. At least five suicide bombers mounted the attack, though they
were unable to reach the inner area of the compound. Azam Tariq, a spokesperson for the Pakistani Taliban,
claims responsibility for the attack, saying they were acting in retaliation to American missile strikes and
Pakistani military operations in the area.
Apr. 7: Kyrgyzstan President Bakiyev fleas Bishkek amid deadly protests and demonstrations. Former foreign
minister Roza Otunbayeva, acting as the leader of the opposition, assumes power as acting president.
Government troops and demonstrators are battling in the streets, and nearly 70 people are killed and more
than 400 wounded. Demonstrations over sharp increases in utility prices broke out in the city of Talas and
promptly spread to the capital of Bishkek, where protesters are also rallying against government corruption.
Bakiyev refuses to resign despite Otunbayeva's support.
Apr. 14: An explosion in the Eyjafjallajokull volcano in Iceland results in a volcanic ash plume in the
atmosphere over northern and central Europe. Air travel in the region is halted for several days, causing the
cancellation of several thousand flights and disrupting the travel plans of millions of people. Apr. 21: After
millions of travelers have been stranded for days in Europe and North America, airports around the world
begin operation again.
Apr. 20: An explosion on a BP oil drilling rig off the coast of Louisiana kills 11 people and injures 17. Experts
estimate that 13,000 gallons of crude oil per hour are pouring into the Gulf of Mexico. Apr. 26: Authorities
estimate that the amount of oil spilling from leaks in the oil rig is approximately 42,000 gallons of crude oil
per hour. Remote-controlled robots are being used to try and seal off the oil well. Apr. 30: The oil slick from
the rig explosion reaches the Gulf Coast of Louisiana. For the first time, President Obama criticizes BP's
handling of the crisis; he chastises the company for not stemming the flow of oil and cleaning up the spill
before it reached land. July 15: After 86 days of gushing oil into the Gulf of Mexico and several previous
attempts to contain the flow, BP caps its leaking oil well. The cap, which can be removed in the future for oil
collection or left on indefinitely, is an interim measure, put in place until a relief well can be drilled to fix the
problem permanently.
May 3: Prime Minister of Thailand, Vejjajiva Abhisit, offers to hold early electionsone of the key demands
of protesters loyal to former prime minister Thaksin Shinawatra, called red shirts, who have been rioting
since Aprilif the protesters called off their demonstrations, but they reject the gesture. Abhisit withdraws
his offer and orders troops to blockade the protest area. May 13: What started as a peaceful protest
disintegrates into violence; the military fires upon the protesters and hits Khattiya Sawatdiphol, a general
who sided with the red shirts. He later dies of his injuries. His death sparks further violence, and the
protesters retaliated with grenade attacks. May 17: The red shirts offer to negotiate with the government, but
are rebuffed. They then engage in large-scale rioting, looting, and the firebombing of several buildings,
including Thailand's stock exchange and largest department store. The government cracks down on the
movement May 19: Rioters disperse, and protest leaders surrender. They will face terrorism charges. In the
68 days of the protests, 68 people died. The red shirts bore the brunt of most of the casualties.
May 5: A Picasso painting sells for a record-breaking $106.5 million at a Christie's auction. The painting,
"Nude, Green Leaves and Bust," depicts Picasso's mistress and was painted in just one day in 1932.
May 11: British Prime Minister Gordon Brown formally resigns as prime minister after acknowledging that
his Labour Party will be unable to form a majority in Parliament. He recommends Conservative Party leader
David Cameron as his successor; consequently, Cameron creates a coalition government with the
ideologically opposed Liberal Democrats and becomes the prime minister of the United Kingdom. The
leader of the Liberal Democrats, Nick Clegg, will become deputy prime minister. This is the first coalition
government in the U.K. since World War II.
May 19: The United States, Russia, China, and others agree to impose a fourth set of sanctions on Iran's
nuclear program, in an attempt to stop the country from enriching uranium. None of the three previous sets
of sanctions had any effect on Iran's program to enrich uranium nor its willingness to fully disclose actions to
international inspectors.
May 31: Nine people are dead after an Israeli navy commando attacks a flotilla of cargo ships and passenger
boats on their way to Gaza to provide aid and supplies for the area. Israel claims that the passengers on the
flotilla, who were pro-Palestinians and mostly Turks, presented themselves as humanitarians, but were
clearly hostile.
June 1: Just nine months into his term as Prime Minister of Japan, Yukio Hatoyama announces his
resignation from office. His countrymen reportedly find him an indecisive and ineffective ruler and have
been clamoring for him to quit. He will be the fourth prime minister to leave in just four years.
June 13: The United States finds more than $1 trillion in mineral resources in the mountains of Afghanistan,
far more than expected or previously estimated. The findings, which include previously unknown deposits
of iron, copper, gold, and lithium, could drastically improve the country's economy and fundamentally
change the outcome of the war there.
June 17: Street fighting between ethnic Kyrgyz and minority Uzbeks escalated in the city of Osh, Kyrgyzstan,
leaving at least 200 people dead. Thousands of people are displaced after Uzbek neighborhoods are torched,
and approximately 100,000 people have crossed the border into Uzbekistan, forcing that country's
government to close its borders. June 24: The death toll in the ethnic fighting in Kyrgyzstan rises to 2,000, yet
the cause of the original skirmish remains unknown. Many of those who fled the country have begun to
return.
June 20: In a surprise victory, Graeme McDowell wins golf's U.S. Open at Pebble Beach Golf Links in
California, beating second place Frenchman Gregory Havret by just one stroke. McDowell, from Northern
Ireland, is the first European to win the tournament since 1970.
July 9: After discovering and imprisoning 10 Russian spies masquerading as civilians in the United States, the
U.S. and Russia agree to and implement a swap of the captured spies. The Russian government traded four
Russians who were purportedly spying for the U.S. or another Western country.
July 11: After four weeks and 64 games, the 32 countries who entered the 2010 FIFA World Cup in South
Africa were whittled down to just two; the final game, between Spain and the Netherlands, went into
overtime after a scoreless game. Spain finally scored in the 129th minute, winning the game and the World
Cup title.
July 25: Alberto Contador wins the Tour de France, his third title in the world's most prestigious cycling race,
and his second in a row.
July 30: Massive flooding in Pakistan, following two days of record rainfall, kills over 400 people and leaves
thousands homeless. Damage to infrastructure has left many villages and towns inaccessible to government
aid, stranding many survivors of the floods. Aug. 12: After two weeks of catastrophic flooding in Pakistan, the
UN now estimates that at least 1,600 people have been killed and 14 million displaced from their homes.
Aug. 5: Russian Prime Minister Vladimir Putin bans the export of grains from his country, citing the
widespread drought and wildfires that are crippling Russia. They are suffering from the country's worst heat
wave in 130 years. Aug. 6: At least 52 people have been killed in the more than 800 wildfires that have swept
across Russia.
Aug. 18: The U.S. State Department announces that it will increase the presence of civilian contractors in
2011 as the military prepares to leave the country. Contractors will be responsible for training Iraqi police
and preventing confrontations between the Iraqi Army and civilian groups.
Sept. 12: The female American hiker imprisoned in Iran on charges of espionage is released on $500,000 bail.
Sarah Shourd has been in prison for over a year, along with the two male American friends she was hiking
with, Shane Bauer and Joshua Fattal. The three friends were hiking in the Kurdish region of northern Iraq in
July 2009 when they allegedly passed over into Iranian territory and were arrested.
Oct. 12: First of 33 trapped Chilean miners is rescued after spending 68 days trapped in a mine half a mile
underground. He is pulled to safety via a capsule made for the rescue mission. The rest of the miners will be
carried to safety over the next 24 hours. Oct. 13: All 33 Chilean miners trapped underground for over two
months are pulled to safety in what is being hailed as a brilliant rescue mission.
Oct. 29: Suspicious packages found on an airplane originating in Yemen and bound for the United States
contained explosive materials. Saudi intelligence officials tipped the U.S. government about the packages,
resulting in a brief terrorism scare across the country. No additional explosives were found.
Nov. 22: Irish Prime Minister Brian Cowen announces he will dissolve his government and hold a new
election after the 2011 budget passes. This announcement comes just one day after the Irish government
requested a $100 billion bailout package from the European Union and IMF to help save its flailing
economy.
Nov. 22: At least 300 people are killed and hundreds more injured in a stampede during Cambodia's annual
water festival. The stampede reportedly occurred after people panicked when a densely crowded bridge
began to sway.
Nov. 23: The military of North Korea unexpectedly attacks the island of Yeonpyeong in South Korea, killing
two civilians and two marines. Eighteen others are wounded. This is the first time North Korea has fired on a
civilian target since the suspension of the Korean War in 1953.
Dec. 2: Russia wins its bid as host for the 2018 World Cup, while Qatar secures the host duties for the
international soccer tournament in 2022. The United States, in particular, was disappointed by the
announcement; the country was hoping to host the World Cup in 2022. Qatar will be the first Middle Eastern
country to the tournament; Russia has never had the privilege either.
Dec. 7: Julian Assange, the Australian-born co-founder of WikiLeaks, is arrested in England on a Swedish
warrant in connection to accusations made in August: two women in Sweden accused him of sexual assault.
He is denied bail by a London court. Dec. 8: Hundreds of Internet activists attack several businesses seen as
"enemies" of WikiLeaks, in response to Assange's imprisonment. Amazon.com, Paypal.com, and the
MasterCard website are among those attacked with an onslaught of web traffic. Dec. 14: Assange is released
on $310,000 bail, but remains in British custody temporarily. He faces possible extradition to Sweden for his
alleged sexual assaults on two women.
Jan. 3: The Transportation Security Administration announces stricter screening requirements for
passengers traveling by air to the U.S. from 14 countries, including Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, and Nigeria.
Passengers with passports or originating flights from any of the countries on this list will be required to
undergo full-body pat downs and extra scrutiny of carry-on luggage. More advanced screenings will also be
necessary at certain airports. The new regulations result from the attempted bombing by a Nigerian citizen
on December 25. Jan. 6: Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab, the Nigerian man accused of attempting to detonate a
suicide bomb on an airplane bound for Detroit, Michigan on December 25, 2009, is indicted on six counts.
Charges include attempted murder and attempted use of a weapon of mass destruction.
Jan. 19: In a stunning upset, Republican Scott Brown, a former member of the state senate, wins a special
election in Massachusetts for Ted Kennedy's vacated U.S. Senate seat, beating Democrat Martha Coakley,
the state attorney general, by a wide margin. His victory marks the end of the Democrats' "super" majority in
the Senate and raises questions about the viability of the Democratic party and the pending health-care
reform bill. Kennedy passed away in Aug. 2009, ending a 46-year run in the Senate.
Jan. 21: In a 5/4 decision, the U.S. Supreme Court rules that the government cannot restrict the spending of
corporations for political campaigns, maintaining that it's their First Amendment right to support candidates
as they choose. This decision upsets two previous precedents on the free-speech rights of corporations.
President Obama expressed disapproval of the decision, calling it a "victory" for Wall Street and Big
Business.
Jan. 28: The U.S. Senate agrees to give Ben Bernanke, Chairman of the Federal Reserve Board, another term,
a 7030 vote. This will be Bernanke's second, four-year term.
Jan. 29: A jury finds Scott Roeder, charged with first-degree murder for killing George Tillera doctor
known for performing late-term abortionsguilty. Tiller was killed in May 2009 in his own church. Roeder
claims he killed Tiller to stop the abortions the doctor was performing.
Feb. 1: President Obama presents to Congress his 2011 budget of $3.8 trillion and his 10-year budget plan. The
budget includes a $1.6 trillion deficit in the next fiscal year, which begins in October, and then steadily
declines over the following 10 years. Included in the budget are cuts to domestic programs and spending;
some programs, including NASA's return trips to the moon, will be eliminated all together
Feb. 2: Following President Obama's State of the Union Declaration that he wants an end to the military
policy "Don't Ask, Don't Tell," which forbids openly gay men and women to serve in the military, top officials
at the Department of Defense look for a way to end the law. Admiral Mike Mullen, the chairman of the Joint
Chiefs of Staff, announces that he feels repealing the policy is "the right thing to do." Defense Secretary
Robert Gates says he will follow through with Obama's orders.
Feb. 5: The unemployment rate drops to 9.7% in January 2010, down from 10% in December, reports the
Labor Department. An additional 20,000 jobs were lost. Both numbers show that the economy is beginning
to improve, as they demonstrate a decline in joblessness in the United States following the recession.
Feb. 12: Amy Bishop, a professor at the University of Alabama in Huntsville, is arrested after allegedly killing
three faculty members and wounding three others at the university in a shooting rampage. Bishop was upset
over recently being denied tenure in the biology department.
Feb. 18: A man crashes his plane into an office of the Internal Revenue Service in Austin, Texas, killing
himself and one other person. Apparently the pilot, Andrew Joseph Stack III, was holding a grudge against
the government and the tax system. Thirteen others were injured.
Feb. 22: President Obama announces his detailed plan for a health-care reform bill. The plan closely follows
the version currently in the Senate. Obama asks Republicans to submit their ideas or agree to his version of
the bill.
Mar. 11: Thousands of rescue and cleanup workerswho worked for months in Ground Zero after the
terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001reach a settlement with New York City over their health claims. The
deal is worth approximately $657.5 million. The 10,000 plaintiffs will be awarded settlement money
according to the severity of their illnesses and the time worked in the disaster zone. Money for the settlement
will come from a federally financed insurance company that covers the city.
Mar. 21: The House of Representatives passes a bill that will overhaul the American health-care system. The
bill will be sent to President Obama to sign into law. Among other things, the bill will allow children to stay
on their parents' health insurance plans until the age of 26, prevent insurance companies from denying
coverage due to a patient's "pre-existing conditions," subsidize private insurance for low- and middle-income
Americans, and require all Americans to have some sort of health insurance. The budget office estimates
that the law will reduce federal budget deficits by $143 billion over the next 10 years. The government plans
to earn money for the law with a tax on high-cost employer-sponsored health plans and a tax on the
investment income of the wealthiest Americans. Mar. 23: President Obama signs the health-care overhaul
bill, called the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act, into law. Mar. 30: Obama signs the
"reconciliation" bill, which outlines minor changes and additions to the new health-care act, coupled with
the bill that overhauls the student loan industry. The health care revisions were drafted by the U.S. Senate as
a measure to prevent Republicans from filibustering the original health-care bill.
Apr. 1: The Environmental Protection Agency issues formal guidelines for the amount of greenhouse gas
emissions cars will be able to produce. The new emissions and mileage standards would mean that
combined fuel economy average for new vehicles must be 35.5 by 2016.
Apr. 5: President Obama announces a revised American nuclear strategy that will limit the instances in
which the U.S. will use nuclear weapons. Part of the strategy includes renouncing the creation of new
nuclear weapons. However, Obama points out that exceptions will be made to countries such as Iran and
North Korea who have violated the nuclear proliferation treaty in the past. This announcement significantly
changes the protocol of past administrations; the United States is declaring for the first time its commitment
not to use nuclear weapons against nonnuclear states.
Apr. 9: Supreme Court Justice John Paul Stevens announces he will retire this summer, after serving on the
court for 35 years. Though he was appointed in 1975 by a Republican president, Gerald Ford, and considered
a moderate conservative at the time, he has proved to be one of the most reliably liberal-voting judges on the
court. Stevens is the most senior member of the court. President Obama promises to name his nominee for
the position quickly; it will be the second opportunity for Obama to select a Supreme Court justice in his
first two years of office. His first pick, Sonia Sotomayor, proved divisive and controversial, but was confirmed
to the position in August 2009.
Apr. 23: The governor of Arizona, Jan Brewer (Rep.), signs into law the country's toughest immigration bill. It
is designed to identify and deport illegal immigrants. Law enforcement officials are now allowed to ask those
people suspected of being illegal immigrants for their proof of citizenship or visas.
May 2: After discovering a bomb in a smoking vehicle parked in Times Square, in New York City, police
evacuated several blocks around the popular tourist spot. The bomb was made of propane, gasoline, and
fireworks and did not explode. A T-shirt vendor in the area saw the smoking car and alerted the authorities.
May 3: Federal agents and New York City police arrest a man in conjunction with the Times Square car
bomb. The man, Faisal Shahzad, is Pakistani but recently became a naturalized U.S. citizen and has been
living in Connecticut with his family. Authorities are investigating whether Shahzad was working with a
terrorist group or alone. May 4: Terrorism suspect Faisal Shazhad is charged with attempted use of a weapon
of mass destruction and several other federal charges related to explosives. Shahzad admitted to the crime
and claims to have worked alone. May 5: American officials announce that the Pakistani Taliban likely
played a role in the Time Square bomb plot, including training the suspect in the case, Shahzad. May 13: The
F.B.I. takes three Pakistani men into custody for their alleged role in the Times Square bomb plot. The men
are under suspicion for providing money to Faisal Shazhad so he could carry out the plot.
May 10: President Obama selects Solicitor General Elena Kagan as his nominee for the Supreme Court
Justice position that will be vacated by Justice John Paul Stevens this summer. Kagan is a scholar and a
lawyer, and was the first female dean of Harvard Law School, has served on all three branches of the Federal
Government, and has been the Solicitor General in the Obama administration. She has no prior judicial
experience however, a qualification that hasn't been lacking in a justice for forty years.
June 4: President Obama names Lt. Gen. James R. Clapper Jr. as the new director of national intelligence.
Clapper is tasked with improving the coordination between the 16 U.S. spy and intelligence agencies. The
former director, Adm. Dennis C. Blair, was forced out of the job two weeks earlier.
June 23: After a controversial interview with Rolling Stone that included some demeaning remarks about
President Obama and his administration, General Stanley McChrystal is relieved of his position as
commander of the American Forces in Afghanistan and replaced by his boss, General David Patraeus.
June 28: The Supreme Court rules in a 5-to-4 decision that the Second Amendment's guarantee, the right to
bear arms, applies to local and state gun control laws. Justice Samuel Alito, who spoke for the majority, said
the right to self defense is fundamental to American civil liberties. The decision is a particular blow to local
government in Chicago and Oak Park Illinois, where handguns are essentially banned.
July 6: The United States Justice Department files a lawsuit against the state of Arizona in protest of its new
immigration law, which allows law enforcement professionals to question suspected illegal immigrants of
their immigration status. The U.S. government claims that immigration is a federal issue, not to be enforced
by state governments, due to the possibility that their laws would interfere with federal cases and issues. July
28: A federal judge blocks key sections of the Arizona immigration law, including law enforcement's ability
to request legal documentation of U.S. citizenship from suspected illegal immigrants, and the requirement
for immigrants to carry papers at all times. A less controversial version of the immigration enforcement law
will still pass.
July 15: Congress approves a landmark financial regulation bill, strongly supported by President Obama and
by and large the Democratic Party. The bill increases the number of companies that will be regulated by
government oversight, a panel to watch for risks in the financial system, and a consumer protection agency.
Some Democrats and critics argue that the bill is not tough enough; Republicans claim it gives the
government too much power in the business sector.
July 15: Goldman Sachs has agreed to $550 million settlement with the federal government after being
accused of misleading investors during the subprime mortgage crisis and housing market collapse. Goldman
Sachs reported a profit of $13.39 billion in 2009.
Aug. 4: A federal judge strikes down the voter-approved gay marriage ban in California, calling the law
unconstitutional. Judge Vaughn Walker, the chief judge of the Federal District Court of the Northern
District of California, claims that the law, which was voted into place with 52% of the vote in 2008 as
Proposition 8, discriminates against gay men and women. Aug. 12: Judge Walker lifts the stay on the banning
of gay marriage in California, allowing same-sex couples to marry while higher courts consider the matter.
He delays implementation of the order until August 18, however. Aug. 16: A U.S. appeals court rules that
same-sex couples cannot marry in the state of California while the court considers the constitutionality of
the ban.
Aug. 5: The United States Senate votes 63 to 37 to confirm President Obama's most recent nominee to the
U.S. Supreme Court, Elena Kagan, as the newest Justice. Kagan is only the fourth woman to ever hold this
position, and she'll be the third female member of the current bench, joining Ruth Bader Ginsburg and
Sonia Sotomayor.
Aug. 31: Seven years after the war in Iraq began, President Obama announces the end of Operation Iraqi
Freedom with a withdrawal of combat troops. Obama emphasizes that U.S. domestic problems, mainly the
flailing economy and widespread unemployment, are more pressing matters to his country. The U.S. will
continue to be a presence in Iraq, mainly with civilian contractors but also with a smaller military contingent
of approximately 50,000 troops. The remaining troops are scheduled to leave Iraq by the end of 2011.
Sept. 7: President Obama announces that he will not approve an extension of the Bush-era law that gives a
tax break for the wealthy, or those families who earn over $250,000 per year and individuals who earn over
$200,000 annually. President George W. Bush passed the tax cuts for those in the higher income bracket in
2001.
Sept. 16: The percentages of American living below the poverty line, or $10,830 for an individual and $22,050
for a family of four, reached 15-year high in 2009, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. Over 44 million
people, or 14.3 percent of Americans, are considered living in poverty. The U.S. is experiencing its worst
economic period since the Great Depression.
Sept. 21: Lawrence Summers, the chief architect of President Obama's economic policy and head of the
National Economic Council, is leaving his position with the White House. Several of Obama's top advisors
have recently left; the White House says Summers' exit was long planned and that he'll be returning to his
tenured position at Harvard.
Oct. 12: U.S. District Judge Virginia Phillips, of California, orders the government to stop the enforcement of
the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell Law," which forbids gays and lesbians from openly serving in the U.S. military.
Defense Secretary Robert Gates announces that ending the enforcement of the law so abruptly would have
negative effects on the men and women currently serving in the military, though President Obama and his
administration officially oppose the law. Gates claims Congress should decide on the validity of the law. The
ban has been in place for 17 years. Oct. 20: A federal appeals court temporarily stalls the U.S. district court
decision to allow gays to serve openly in the military. The military will continue to enforce the Don't Ask,
Don't Tell policy for the time being.
Nov. 4: The Republican Party gains control of the House of Representatives in the midterm elections, but the
Democratic party retains the majority in the Senate. Two members of the Tea Party also have victories, Rand
Paul of Kentucky and Mark Rubio of Florida. Senate majority leader Harry Reid wins his reelection in
Nevada and his fellow Democrats win key Senate races across the country; therefore, Reid maintains his
leadership position. Representative John Boehner of Ohio is poised to become the new Speaker of the
House, replacing Democratic Representative Nancy Pelosi of California.
Nov. 24: Tom Delay, the former House Majority Leader from Texas, is convicted of money laundering and
conspiracy to commit money laundering involving corporate campaign contributions. He faces up to 99
years in prison in his sentencing.
Nov. 30: After surveying 115,000 active-duty and reserve service members in a nine-month study, the
Pentagon announces that repealing the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell," law, which forbids gay and lesbian service
members from serving openly in the military, will not affect the military's strength. Of those military
personnel surveyed, 70 percent believed repealing the law would impact their units in a positive, mixed, or
neutral way.
Dec. 2: The House of Representatives votes 33379 to censure Representative Charles Rangel (Dem., N.Y.) for
ethics violations, including failure to pay income taxes and improperly soliciting donations. Censure is the
worst punishment Congress can give to a member, short of expulsion. Rangel is the 23rd member of the
House to be censured.
Dec. 2: The House of Representatives votes 264157 to pass the child nutrition bill, which expands the scope
of the current school lunch program and implements improvements to the overall health of the foods
available and provided through that program. The Senate previously passed the bill unanimously. The
program will cost approximately $4.5 billion to implement; about half of that budget will be provided by a
cut to the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, better known as food stamps.
Dec. 13: Henry Hudson, a federal judge from Virginia, rules that one of the main provisions of the health-care
form law is unconstitutional. The ruling claims that under the Commerce Clause, a law requiring all
Americans to hold health insurance, as the reform law states, is beyond the regulatory power of the federal
government. The judge does not request that the implementation of the act be suspended, however.
Dec. 18: The Senate votes 65 to 31 in favor of repealing Don't Ask, Don't Tell, the Clinton-era military policy
that forbids openly gay men and women from serving in the military. Eight Republicans side with the
Democrats to strike down the ban. The repeal is sent to President Obama for his final signature. The ban will
not be lifted officially until Obama, Defense Secretary Robert Gates, and Admiral Mike Mullen, the
chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, agree that the military is ready to enact the change and that it won't
affect military readiness. Dec. 22: President Obama officially repeals the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" military
policy.
Dec. 22: After years of debate and compromise, Congress passes a $4.3 billion health bill for the rescue
workers involved in the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks in New York City. The bill will cover $1.8 billion in
health-care costs for the 60,000 rescue workers registered for monitoring and treatment; the City of New
York will pay 10% of the bill's overall costs. The bill will also reopen the September 11 Victim Compensation
Fund for five years, which provides money to compensate for job loss.
2011
Jan. 11: The Arab Spring movement begins in Tunisia when demonstrators take to the streets to protest
chronic unemployment and police brutality. Jan. 14: After 23 years of authoritarian rule, Tunisian president
Ben Ali flees the country for Saudi Arabia amid protests. Jan. 25: Similar protests break out in Egypt. Feb. 11:
Egyptian president Hosni Mubarak announces his resignation and handed power of the country over to the
military. Feb. 14: Violence erupts in Bahrain as protestors select Feb. 14th as a day of protest to coincide with
the 10th anniversary of the National Action Charter. Feb. 16: In Benghazi, Libya, thousands of protesters
demand that Col. Muammar al-Qaddafi step down. The next day, declared the Day of Rage, saw the number
of demonstrations burgeon throughout the country. March 18: Bahrain brings in troops from Saudi Arabia
and the United Arab Emirates to crack down against peaceful protestors clamoring for reform. March 20: In
Egypt, 77.2% of voters approve a referendum on constitutional amendments that lays the groundwork for
upcoming legislative and presidential elections. March 29: Syrian president Bashar al-Assad accepts the
resignation of his cabinet. Aug. 3: Former Egyptian president Hosni Mubarak is rolled into the courtroom on
a hospital bed for the beginning of his trial. Mubarak faces charges of corruption and complicity in the
killing of protesters. Aug. 18: Britain, France, and Germany release a joint statement stating that Syrian
president Bashar al-Assad has lost legitimacy as a leader and that he must step down. For the first time,
President Obama calls for Assad to leave office. Nov. 18: Protesters-representing both Islamists and the
liberal opposition-return to Tahrir Square in Egypt to demand the ruling military council step aside in favor
of a civilian-led government. Nov. 21: As the protests in Egypt grow in size and intensity and police are
widely criticized for their crackdown, Prime Minister Essam Sharaf and his cabinet resign. In an agreement
reached with the Muslim Brotherhood, the military council vows to install a civilian prime minister and to
accelerate the transition to a civilian government, with presidential elections being held by June 2012.
Former prime minister Kamal al-Ganzouri is named to replace Sharaf, and in response to the demands of
protesters, the military council transfers most powers of the president to him. Nov. 28: Parliamentary
elections begin in Egypt.
April 29: Kate Middleton marries Prince William in a lavish royal wedding at Westminster Abbey in London.
May 2: U.S. troops and CIA operatives shoot and kill Osama bin Laden in Abbottabad, Pakistan, a city of
500,000 people that houses a military base and a military academy.
May 4: Fatah and Hamas, rival Palestinian parties, sign a reconciliation accord. The two factions cite
common causes behind the accord: opposition to the Israeli occupation and disillusionment with the
American peace efforts. The deal remakes the Palestine Liberation Organization, which until now excluded
Hamas. Hamas will now be part of the political leadership.
May 14: Dominique Strauss-Kahn, head of the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and a leading political
figure in France, is arrested for sexually assaulting a maid at a Manhattan hotel. All charges against StraussKahn were later dropped when his accuser was found to be unreliable.
May 26: Ratko Mladic, the former Bosnian Serb general responsible for the massacre of over 8,000 Muslims
at Srebrenica in 1995, is found and arrested in Lazarevo, a farming town north of Belgrade, Serbia.
June 3: Yemen President Ali Abdullah Saleh barely survives an attack when a bomb hits the mosque at the
presidential compound where he and other government officials are praying. Days later he travels to Saudi
Arabia for treatment.
July 9: After more than 50 years of struggle, South Sudan declares independence and becomes Africa's 54th
state.
July 11: The News of the World, a British newspaper owned by Rupert Murdoch, closes after several
allegations that the paper's journalists hacked into voicemail accounts belonging to not only a 13-year-old
murder victim, but also the relatives of soldiers killed in Iraq and Afghanistan. Prime Minister David
Cameron orders two separate investigations. Murdoch's News Corporation feels an immediate impact as its
stock price falls. July 13: Murdoch's News Corporation withdraws its $12 billion bid to buy British Sky
Broadcasting. July 17: Rebekah Brooks, former editor of the News of the World, is arrested on suspicion of
illegally intercepting phone calls and bribing the police. Her arrest comes two days after her resignation as
chief executive of News International, which runs the British newspaper operations of Murdoch's News
Corporation. July 18: Paul Stephenson and John Yates, two Scotland Yard senior police officials, resign. Both
officers have ties to Neil Wallis, a former deputy editor at the News of the World who was recently arrested
on suspicion of phone hacking and bribery of police officers.
July 22: Norway is hit with consecutive terrorist attacks. First, a bomb explodes in Regjeringskvartalet, the
government quarter of Oslo. The explosion happens right outside the prime minister's office, killing eight
people and wounding several others. Two hours later, a gunman disguised as a policeman opens fire at a
camp for young political activists on the island of Utoya in Tyrifjorden, Buskerud. The gunman kills 68
campers.
July 23: The award-winning, internationally known singer-songwriter Amy Winehouse is found dead in her
apartment in London.
Sep. 23: Palestinian president Mahmoud Abbas officially requests a bid for statehood at the UN Security
Council. The request comes after months of failed European and U.S. efforts to bring Israel and Palestine
back to the negotiating table.
Sep. 25: King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia grants women the right to vote and run for office in future elections.
The new ruling will not go into effect until the next election cycle in 2015.
Oct. 18: Gilad Shalit, a 25-year-old Israeli soldier, is released after being held for more than five years by
Hamas, a militant Palestinian group. He is exchanged for 1,000 Palestinians who have spent years in Israeli
jails. Shalit had been held in Gaza since Palestinian militants kidnapped him in 2006.
Oct. 20: Libya's interim government announces that Col. Muammar el-Qaddafi has been killed by rebel
troops in Surt, his hometown.
Oct. 24: Millions of Tunisians vote in their first ever free election. The vote is for an assembly to write a
constitution and shape a new government. Ennahda, a moderate Islamist party, is the winner with 41% of the
vote.
Oct. 26: Led by Chancellor Angela Merkel of Germany and President Nicolas Sarkozy of France, leaders of
the euro zone agree on a package to bring the debt crisis in Europe under control. The terms include forcing
banks to take a 50% cut in the value of Greek debt and to raise new capital to protect them from future
defaults, increasing the euro-zone's bail-out fund to $1.4 trillion, more austerity measures in Greece, and a
reduction of Greece's debt to 120% of its GDP by 2020.
Nov. 12: Silvio Berlusconi, who has weathered political and personal scandals that would have ended most
political careers, steps down as prime minister of Italy. Mario Monti, an economist and former antitrust
commissioner for the European Commission, takes over, leading a cabinet of technocrats to implement the
austerity plan.
Dec. 4: International and local monitors condemn parliamentary elections in Russia as fraudulent. United
Russia, the party led by Vladimir Putin, comes out on top, receiving nearly 50% of the vote, but the party lost
77 seats. Monitors say that United Russia would have lost more seats were it not for ballot-box stuffing and
voting irregularities. Proteststhe largest since the 1990stake place near the Kremlin.
Jan. 8: Arizona Representative Gabrielle Giffords is among 17 shot by a gunman who opened fire on the
congresswoman's constituent meeting outside a local grocery store. Six people are fatally wounded,
including United States District Court Judge John Roll, and a young girl. The gunman, who police identify as
Jared Lee Loughner, is apprehended.
Jan. 25: President Obama announces his intention to reduce the federal deficit by $400 billion over 10 years
in his State of the Union Address. His plan for enacting this dramatic reduction includes budget cuts and
freezes, including a spending freeze on many domestic programs.
Feb. 14: President Obama's $3.8 trillion budget proposal runs into trouble in Congress among lawmakers
who say that the plan doesn't go far enough to reduce the deficit, despite a $1.6 trillion savings over 10 years.
March 2: Congress approves a two-week budget extension that keeps federal agencies open through March
18 while work continues to reach a budget agreement. March 17: The Senate passes a second measure to keep
the government open while budget talks continue. April 1: With less than two hours to spare, an agreement
on the federal budget is made, avoiding a government shutdown. Republicans demand a provision to restrict
financing to Planned Parenthood and other groups that provide abortions. Obama and the Democrats refuse
to budge on the abortion provision, but they do agree to tens of billions in spending cuts.
Feb. 15: State employees and teachers stage protests in Madison, Wisconsin and Democratic senators flee the
state in an effort to hault Governor Scott Walker's plan to cut bargaining rights and benefits of public
workers. May 26: Judge Maryann Sumi of Dane County Circuit Court grants a permanent injunction that
voids the new Wisconsin law curbing collective bargaining rights for many state and local employees. The
ruling comes because Republicans in the state senate violated the state's open meetings law during their vote
on March 9th, when they failed to give at least two hours' notice to the public.
Feb. 23: The Obama Administration determines that the Defense of Marriage Act is unconstitutional. The
Justice Department will stop defending the law in court. The Defense of Marriage Act is the 1996 law that
bars federal recognition of same-sex marriages.
March 1: The Interior Dept approves the first new deepwater drilling permit in the Gulf of Mexico since the
BP explosion and spill last spring. The approval is a milestone after a period of industry uncertainty.
April 27: In one of the worst U.S. tornado seasons, 137 reported tornadoes sweep through the south, killing
nearly 300 people in six states. Most of the fatalities occur in Alabama. May 22: At least 140 people are killed
and hundreds more injured as a three-quarter-mile-wide tornado hits Joplin, Missouri. The tornado is
among the deadliest in the nation's history, destroying nearly a third of the city and damaging about 2,000
buildings, including water treatment and sewage plants.
May 5: Heavy rains cause flooding in the Mississippi and Ohio River valleys. People in Missouri, Illinois,
Indiana, Tennessee, Kentucky, and Arkansas are forced to leave their homes. May 14: Engineers open a
portion of the Morganza Spillway to relieve pressure on levees along the Mississippi River and to protect
New Orleans and other areas downriver from flooding. The decision to open the Morganza Spillway does
have consequences; water pours into the Atchafalaya River basin, flooding marshes, bayous, farmland, and
thousands of homes. May 15: According to the Army Corps of Engineers, the Mississippi River breaks the
elevation record in Vicksburg, Miss., which was set by the 1927 flood. The river rises to 56.3 feet, 13 feet above
flood stage, at a rate of nearly 17 million gallons per second.
May 19: President Obama declares that the borders before the 1967 Arab-Israeli war should be the basis of a
Mideast peace deal between Israel and Palestine. The Israeli government protests immediately, saying that a
return to the pre-1967 borders would leave Israel "indefensible."
June 22: Legendary Boston crime boss, James "Whitey" Bulger is found and arrested by federal authorities in
Santa Monica, Calif. Bulger is on the FBI's 10 Most Wanted list and has been indicted in 19 murders. The
arrest ends a 16-year international search.
June 24: New York passes a law to allow same-sex marriage, becoming the largest state that allows gay and
lesbian couples to marry. The vote comes on the eve of the city's annual Gay Pride Parade and gives new
momentum to the national gay-rights movement.
July 19: With the Aug. 2 deadline to raise the $14.3 trillion debt ceiling quickly approaching, members of the
House and the Senate as well as President Obama work to agree on a budget deal to lower the deficit. If a
deal is not reached by the debt ceiling deadline, the U.S. would be forced to default, affecting its credit
rating. July 31: With the debt ceiling deadline only 48 hours away, an agreement still has not been reached.
Credit rating agencies, such as Moody's and Standard & Poor's, report that they will downgrade the country's
current AAArating if the U.S. defaults and fails to pay its bills on August 2nd. Aug. 1: Congress makes an 11thhour deal to prevent a national default. The deal raises the debt ceiling in two steps to $2.4 trillion and cuts
an initial $1 trillion in spending over ten years. Also, a bipartisan committee will be formed to recommend
$1.5 trillion in additional budget cuts. Aug. 5: For the first time in history, the U.S. has its credit rating
lowered. Credit agency Standard & Poor's lowered the nation's credit rating from the top grade of AAA to
AA+, removing the U.S. from its list of risk-free borrowers. Nov. 21: The Congressional Supercommittee in
charge of finding $1.2 trillion in deficit reductions fails to agree on what programs to cut after more than 10
weeks of meeting. Because the group could not agree on a deficit reduction plan, automatic cuts to military
and domestic programs will go into effect in 2013.
Aug. 13: The race for the Republican Presidential Nomination heats up as Texas Gov. Rick Perry announces
his candidacy in South Carolina while Michele Bachmann wins the Iowa straw poll. Sept. 25: Mitt Romney
wins the Michigan Straw Poll with 51% of the vote. Herman Cain wins the Florida straw poll by nearly 40%.
Dec. 3: Cain suspends his campaign for the U.S. presidency after five women come forward with accusations
of sexual misconduct.
Aug. 27: Beginning as a Category 3 with 115-mile-per hour winds, Hurricane Irene moves up the eastern
seaboard. At least 44 people are killed in 13 states. Evacuations are ordered for about 2.3 million people.
Damage is estimated at $7 billion.
Oct. 17: Occupy Wall Street, an organized protest in New York's financial district, expands to other cities
across the U.S., including Boston, Chicago, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. Occupy Wall Street defines itself
as a group of activists who stand against corporate greed, social inequality, and the disproportion between
the rich and poor. Nov. 3: The Occupy Wall Street movement turns violent in Oakland, Calif. when a small
group of about 100 demonstrators break windows, burn garbage, and spray graffiti. Dozens of protesters are
arrested. Nov. 15: During a sweep of Zuccotti Park in New York City, 140 protesters are arrested. A judge rules
that the city has the right to enforce the rule against camping in the park. Nov. 21: A video showing two
University of California, Davis police officers using pepper spray at close range on seated, passive protesters
goes viral.
Nov. 5: Former Penn State defensive coordinator, Jerry Sandusky, is arrested on charges of 40 counts of
sexual abuse over a 15-year period. Nov. 9: Celebrated Penn State head football coach Joe Paterno is fired by
the school's Board of Trustees because he failed to notify the police in 2002 after he was informed of a
suspected assault by Sandusky. Dec. 7: Sandusky is arrested again after two more victims came forward.
With the additional charges, Sandusky now faces more than 50 counts of child sexual abuse. Penn State is
being investigated for its handling of the abuse allegations by the U.S. Department of Education.
Nov. 8: In the general election, voters choose against conservative-backed measures across the nation. An
anti-abortion measure in Mississippi, an anti-labor law in Ohio, and a measure to clampdown on voting
rights in Maine are all rejected. Overall, voters show support for current officials on city and state levels.
Mayors win re-election bids in Philadelphia, Indianapolis, and Baltimore. In Iowa, Republicans fail to take
over the State Senate.
2012
Jan. 4: The European Union imposes an oil embargo on Iran in an attempt to get Iran to halt uranium
enrichment and end its nuclear weapons efforts. Feb. 15: Iran warns six European countries that it might cut
them off from Iranian oil. The threat is made to the ambassadors of Italy, Spain, France, the Netherlands,
Greece and Portugal at the Foreign Ministry in Tehran.
Feb. 1: At least 73 people are killed in a fight between fans of rival teams at a soccer match in Port Said, Egypt.
March 4: Vladimir Putin wins the presidential election in Russia, claiming 64% of the vote. It will be his third
full term as president of Russia.
March 10: A U.S. soldier goes on a door-to-door rampage in Afghanistan, brutally killing 17 civilians,
including nine children. March 23: The U.S. military announces that Army Staff Sgt. Robert Bales has been
charged with 17 counts of premeditated murder in the attacks.
March 21: Syrian president Bashar al-Assad agrees to a cease-fire. The UN-brokered plan calls on the Syrian
government to stop killing civilians, engage in talks with the opposition, withdraw forces from the streets,
and begin a transition to a democratic, political system. The country has been in a civil war for several
months, following the March 2011 uprising. April 12: The cease-fire goes into effect, but observers are
skeptical that it will last. May 26: 32 children under age 10 are killed when the Syrian government attacks the
village of Houla. The United Nations blames the deaths on government tanks and artillery, saying many of
the victims were executed in their homes. President Assad, however, claims terrorists carried out the attack.
The cease-fire is considered moot. June 12: A United Nations official declares that Syria is in a state of civil
war. June 22: The Syrian military shoots down a Turkish military jet. President Abdullah Gul of Turkey
responds by saying that his country will do "whatever is necessary" in retaliation. Aug. 2: Kofi Annan resigns
as UN special envoy to Syria, citing the refusal of the Syrian government to implement the UN-backed peace
plan, intensifying violence by rebels, and discord within the Security Council.
April 1: Myanmar opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi, who in October 2010 was released after spending
nearly 20 years under house arrest, wins a seat in parliament.
May 1: On the first anniversary of the killing of Osama bin Laden, President Barack Obama makes a surprise
visit to Afghanistan. During his visit, Obama signs an agreement with Afghan president Hamid Karzai that
says the U.S. will provide Afghanistan development assistance for 10 years after troops withdraw in 2013.
May 6: Francois Hollande defeats Nicolas Sarkozy to become president of France. With the victory, Hollande
becomes the first Socialist president since Francois Mitterrand left office in 1995.
June 11: Hosni Mubarak, former president of Egypt, is sentenced to life in prison for being an accomplice in
the killing of unarmed protestors during the January 2011 demonstrations.
June 17: The Center-right New Democracy party prevails in parliamentary elections in Greece. June 20: New
Democracy quickly forms a coalition with Pasok and the Democratic Left, and Antonis Samaras, the leader
of New Democracy, is sworn in as prime minister.
June 24: Egyptian election officials declare Mohamed Morsi, the Muslim Brotherhood candidate, the winner
of presidential election. Nov. 22: Morsi announces a brazen power grab when he declares authority over the
courts, thereby removing any check on his actions by the courts. He says the move is necessary because the
judiciary, made up of Hosni Mubarak appointees, is threatening to suspend the constitutional assembly
before it completes the task of drafting a new constitution. Nov. 29: Under threat of being suspended by the
courts, the constitutional assembly hastily approves a draft document, which is widely criticized for its
ambiguity and lack of depth and originality. Dec. 26: President Morsi signs the new constitution into law.
The referendum passed in two rounds of voting, on Dec. 14 and Dec. 22. About 64% of voters approved the
constitution, but turnout was lowless than 33%.
July 7: For the first time since Col. Muammar Qaddafi was ousted, Libyans vote in a national election. The
National Forces Alliance, a secular party led by Mahmoud Jibril, a Western-educated political scientist,
prevailed over Islamist parties, including the Muslim Brotherhood, in the election to form a national
congress.
July 27: The 2012 Summer Olympics open in London. More than 10,000 athletes from 205 countries
participate in the Games. July 31: Michael Phelps wins his 19th Olympic medal, becoming the winningest
Olympic athlete of all time. He surpassed the record held by Russian gymnast Larisa Latynina.
Aug. 22: After 19 years of negotiations, Russia joins the newest member of the World Trade Organization.
Sep. 11: Armed gunmen storm the American consulate in Benghazi, Libya, and shoot and kill U.S.
ambassador to Libya Christopher Stevens and three other embassy officials.
Oct. 7 Hugo Chvez is elected to a third term as president of Venezuela.
Oct. 9 In Pakistan, Taliban members shoot 14-year-old Malala Yousafzai in the head and neck. The shooting
occurs while Yousafzai is on her way home on a school bus filled with children. She was targeted for her
outspokenness against the Taliban and her determination to get an education.
Nov. 29: The UN General Assembly upgrades the status of the Palestinian Authority from current observer
to non-member state.
Dec. 12: North Korea successfully launches a rocket into orbit. The launch indicates that the country is
inching closer toward developing the expertise to build an intercontinental ballistic missile.
Jan. 3: The Iowa caucuses kick off U.S. Presidential Election. President Barack Obama goes uncontested in
the Democratic caucus. In the Republican caucus, at first, Mitt Romney is declared the winner over Rick
Santorum by eight votes. Certified results in Iowa show that Rick Santorum narrowly beat Romney by 34
votes in the Jan. 3 caucus. However, since results from eight precincts could not be located for certification,
Santorum and Romney officially tie and split the delegates in Iowa.
Jan. 5: President Obama makes a rare appearance at the Pentagon briefing room to outline a new national
defense strategy. The new strategy takes into account the Pentagon budget cuts, the end to the war in Iraq as
well as new threats from Iran and China.
Jan. 22: Representative Gabrielle Giffords, still recovering from the 2011 assassination attempt, announces
that she is vacating her seat in the House of Representatives.
Jan. 24: In his election-year State of the Union address, President Obama argues that the government should
strive to bridge the gap between rich Americans and the rest of the U.S. by changing the tax code and other
policies. In his speech, he says: "We can either settle for a country where a shrinking number of people do
really well, while a growing number of Americans barely get by, or we can restore an economy where
everyone gets a fair shot."
Feb. 7: A federal appeals court in California rejects the voter-approved ban on same-sex marriage passed in
2008. The court rules that the ban, known as Proposition 8, violates the constitution rights of gay men and
lesbians in California.
Feb. 9: The Pentagon announces that women will now be permanently assigned to battalions. Many women
already serve in those battalions due to demand in Iraq and Afghanistan. The new ruling only makes these
job assignments official and upholds the ban on women serving in combat.
Feb. 10: President Obama announces a change to a recent rule requiring all health insurance plans,
including those offered by Roman Catholic institutions, provide birth control coverage to female employees.
The revision will require that insurance companies, not religious institutions, offer free contraceptive
coverage.
Feb. 13: Washington becomes the seventh state to legalize same-sex marriage as Gov. Christine Gregoire
signs the legislation. Opponents are already working to block the bill and put the issue before voters in a
referendum.
Feb. 13: President Obama issues a budget plan for 2013. The plan includes job-creation initiatives for
infrastructure as well as job-training. The proposal comes up short as far as the goal to cut the deficit in half
by 2013. Republicans seize on this, calling it a broken promise in deficit reduction.
March 6: In the Super Tuesday primaries, Mitt Romney wins six states, including a crucial victory in Ohio,
Rick Santorum takes four states and Newt Gingrich Newt Gingrich wins one.
March 26: The U.S. Supreme Court reviews the constitutionality of the Affordable Health Care Act. June 28:
The Supreme Court upholds the individual mandate in the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act. The
ruling is a victory for President Obama and a loss for the twenty six states that sued over the individual
mandate, which requires that individuals buy health insurance by 2014 or face a fine.
April 10: Rick Santorum announces his decision to end his campaign for the Republican nomination. His
decision comes after taking Easter weekend off from the campaign and after his youngest daughter, who
suffers from a chromosomal disorder, was hospitalized again.
April 3: Mitt Romney takes three more primaries, inching closer to the nomination. Romney wins Wisconsin,
Maryland, and the District of Columbia where his main rival, Rick Santorum, is not on the ballot.
May 8: North Carolina passes an amendment to ban gay marriage by a margin of more than twenty percent.
By doing so, North Carolina becomes the 30th state in the U.S. to include an anti-gay marriage amendment
in its constitution.
May 9: During an interview at the White House with Robin Roberts, President Obama declares his support
for gay marriage for the first time. Regarding the issue, he says, "For me personally, it is important for me to
go ahead and affirm that I think same-sex couples should be able to get married." With the declaration,
Obama becomes the first U.S. president to back gay marriage while in office.
May 17: The Census Bureau releases data stating that over a 12-month period, which ended in July 2011,
Asians, blacks, Hispanics and mixed races made up just over 50 percent of all births, becoming a majority for
the first time in the history of the United States.
June 5: Wisconsin Gov. Scott Walker easily wins a recall election against his 2010 opponent, Tom Barrett.
Receiving 53 percent of the vote, Walker becomes the first governor in U.S. history to win a recall election.
The win is a huge loss for Democrats and labor unions. Walker has been in the national spotlight for his
ongoing battle with unions over his plan to trim the state budget by decreasing collective bargaining rights
and benefits for public workers.
June 12: Ron Barber, one of the top aides of Gabrielle Giffords, wins a special election to replace her in
Congress. Also wounded in the 2011 shooting, Barber defeats Republican rival Jesse Kelly.
June 25: The United States Supreme Court rules against all but one provision in the 2010 immigration law in
Arizona. The one provision the Supreme Court upholds is the one which allows the Arizona police to check
the immigration status for any person they arrest.
July 20: During a midnight screening of The Dark Knight Rises, a gunman opens fire on the crowded theater
in a Denver suburb. Twelve people are killed and 58 others are wounded. Directly after the incident, James
Holmes, age 24, is arrested in a parking lot behind the theater.
Aug. 5: Wade Michael Page, age 40, opens fire in a Sikh temple in Oak Creek, Wisconsin, killing six people
and wounding three others. Police shoot and kill Page, an Army veteran who had ties to the white
supremacist movement.
Aug. 11: Mitt Romney introduces Wisconsin Representative Paul Ryan as his presidential running mate
during an appearance in Norfolk, Virginia. The announcement immediately energizes the Romney
campaign, which raises over a million dollars in just four hours after the announcement.
Aug. 28: Due to Hurricane Isaac, major events at the Republican National Convention begin a day late. Held
in Tampa, Florida, convention highlights include a keynote speech from Gov. Chris Christie of New Jersey
and a personal address from Ann Romney who assured female voters that they can trust her husband.
Sept. 5: Former U.S. President Bill Clinton gives a rousing speech which brings the audience at the
Democratic National Convention to its feet as he officially nominates Barack Obama as the 2012 Democratic
candidate for president. Like the Republican National Convention, the DNC has to work around bad
weather. The convention, held in Charlotte, North Carolina, is moved indoors.
Sept. 10: Twenty-six thousand public school teachers go on strike in Chicago to protest against proposed
changes. Chicago Mayor Rahm Emanuel, has proposed a number of concessions, including that the school
board revoke a promised four percent raise and that student test scores count more toward whether teachers
receive tenure or not. Sept. 18: The strike ends when 800 union delegates vote to suspend the strike and
agree on a contract. The contract gives annual raises to teachers, but evaluates them, in part, on student test
scores. The contract also makes the school day longer.
Sept. 17: Occupy Wall Street marks its one-year anniversary with a demonstration at the New York Stock
Exchange. Protesters attempt to block access to the New York Stock Exchange and 185 arrests are made.
Rallies are also held in other parts of New York City and in more than 30 cities around the world.
Oct. 3: President Obama and Mitt Romney square off in the first debate. Romney and Obama come out
aggressive on issues such as the tax policy, budget deficit, and the role of government. Romney has an
energetic performance that provides a much needed boost to his campaign.
Oct. 9: Jerry Sandusky, the former Penn State football coach, is sentenced to 30 to 60 years in prison for
molesting young boys.
Oct. 16: In the second presidential debate, both candidates are aggressive, often interrupting each other with
accusations of lying. President Obama takes charge of the tone and terms of this debate with observations
such as, "When he said behind closed doors that 47 percent of the country considers themselves victims who
refuse personal responsibility think about who he was talking about."
Oct. 22: President Obama continues to be aggressive in the third debate. In response to a comment from Mitt
Romney about downsizing the U.S. military, Obama says, "You mentioned that we have fewer ships than we
did in 1916. Well, Governor, we also have fewer horses and bayonets. And so the question is not a game of
Battleship."
Oct. 24: Hurricane Sandy hits Cuba, Haiti and Jamaica. A category 2 hurricane, Sandy leaves 44 dead in the
region. Oct. 26: Hurricane Sandy blows through the Bahamas. As it approaches Florida and the east coast of
the United States, it is downgraded to a category 1. Oct. 27: Although it is downgraded, the storm picks up
energy when it collides with a midlatitude trough. The storm system grows as it barrels up the East Coast,
spreading to some 1,000 miles wide. Oct. 29: Hurricane Sandy makes landfall in Atlantic City, N.J., and is reclassified as a post-tropical cyclone. New Jersey, New York, and Connecticut are hardest hit by Sandy. Eight
million people lose power as a result of the storm. Sandy has caused at least 132 deaths and an estimated 82
billion in damages, making it the second costliest hurricane in the United States, behind Katrina.
Nov. 6: President Obama is re-elected, narrowly defeating Republican nominee Mitt Romney. Obama
prevails in both the electoral college and the popular vote, buoyed largely by taking several crucial battle
states, including Colorado, Iowa, Ohio, New Hampshire, Virginia, and Wisconsin.
Nov. 6: In the 2012 election, Democrats keep their majority in the Senate. Democrats take Republican Senate
seats in Massachusetts and Indiana. Key victories for the Democrats also include a win for Tammy Baldwin
in Wisconsin. Her victory makes her the first openly gay candidate to capture a seat in the Senate. The
Republicans keep the majority in the House of Representatives with 232 seats to 191 for the Democrats.
Nov. 9: Former four-star general David Petraeus resigns as CIA director after the FBI uncovers evidence that
he had an extramarital affair. Paula Broadwell is the woman with whom Petraeus had the affair. Broadwell is
the author of "All In: The Education of General David Petraeus", a biography published in 2012.
Nov. 29: The lame duck session of Congress faces the Bush-era tax cuts as well as the stimulus measures
expiring on December 31, 2012. These measures and cuts are set to expire just as the government plans to
severely cut federal spending, thus sending the U.S. economy over a fiscal cliff. Treasury Secretary Timothy
F. Geithner presents the deficit reduction proposal from President Obama in a meeting with Speaker of the
House John Boehner. The proposal asks for a $1.6 million tax increase over ten years, refinancing of home
mortgages, an end to Congressional control over statutory borrowing limits, and $50 billion for immediate
stimulus spending. Republicans react immediately to the proposal with very strong resistance. Dec. 3:
Republicans make a deficit reduction proposal of their own. Their proposal is for a $2.2 trillion deficit
decrease over the next ten years by cutting $1.2 trillion in spending and raising $800 billion in revenue. Dec.
4: President Obama rejects the proposal by Republicans to avoid the rapidly approaching fiscal cliff. He tells
them he will not agree to any proposal that does not include increases on tax rates for the wealthy. Dec. 9:
President Obama meets privately with House Speaker John Boehner in an attempt to hammer out a deal and
avert a fiscal crisis. Republican Senator Bob Corker, of Tennessee, says in a TV interview that a growing
number of Republicans are open to compromising on tax rates. Dec. 30: Republicans in the Senate back off
on their demand that the deal has to include new inflation calculations for Social Security and other
programs. Republican Senate leader Mitch McConnell works with Vice President Joe Biden into the late
hours of the night finalizing a deal.
Nov. 14: The case count for the meningitis outbreak continues to rise in the United States. Thirty-two people
have died. More than 400 have been infected while 14,000 may have been exposed.
Dec. 7: The U.S. Supreme Court agrees to hear two cases that challenge federal and state laws over the issue
that marriage is defined only as a union between a man and a woman. Decisions on the cases are expected
no later than June 2013.
Dec. 14: Adam Lanza, age 20, forces his way into Sandy Hook Elementary School, in Newtown, Connecticut,
and kills 26 people, including 20 children between the ages of six and seven. Then Lanza takes his own life
while still inside the school.
2013
Jan. 1: France sends its military forces to Mali to fight against extreme Islamist militants. (Jan. 16): Islamist
militants take about 40 foreign hostages at a remote BP site in Algeria. Many fear that the hostage situation is
a result of the conflict in Mali.
Jan. 22: Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu is elected to a third term.
Jan. 25: Violent protests erupt throughout Egypt on the second anniversary of the revolution. Demonstrators
focus their ire on the Muslim Brotherhood and the government of President Mohammed Morsi, frustrated
that the country is on an ideologically conservative path and that Morsi has failed to bolster the economy or
fulfill promises to introduce broader civil liberties and social justice. Dozens of people are killed in the
violence. Morsi declares a state of emergency in three large cities: Suez, Ismailia, and Port Said.
Feb. 11: Pope Benedict XVI announces his retirement, becoming the first pope to do so since 1415. He cites
advancing age and a growing physical weakness as his reasons for retirement. He steps down on Feb. 28.
Feb. 12: North Korea says it has detonated a third nuclear bomb. Earlier nuclear tests were conducted in 2006
and 2009.
Feb. 14: South African runner Oscar Pistorius is arrested after police find his girlfriend, Reeva Steenkamp,
dead from multiple gunshot wounds in his apartment. He is later charged with premeditated murder.
March 5: Hugo Chavez, the president of Venezuela, dies of cancer at age 58. He had been in office for 14
years.!
March 8: In response to North Korea's nuclear test in February 2013, the UN Security Council unanimously
passes another round of strict sanctions against North Korea. In a first, China is involved in drafting the
sanctions. In response, North Korean president Kim Jong-un promises to launch "a pre-emptive nuclear
strike" against the U.S. and South Korea and says he has voided the 1953 armistice that ended the war
between North and South Korea.
March 13: Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio of Argentina is elected as the new pope, succeeding Benedict XVI.
Bergoglio, 76, becomes the Catholic Church's 266th pontiff. He is the first pope from Latin America and the
first Jesuit pope. He chooses the name Francis.
March 14: Xi Jingping assumes the presidency of China. Of the 2,956 delegates, only one votes against Xi. He
had earlier been named chairman of the Central Military Commission and general secretary of the
Communist Party.
April 1: Despite stiffer sanctions from the UN, North Korean president Kim Jong-un announces plans to
expand his country's nuclear weapons and strengthen the economy. Kim prohibits South Korean workers
from entering the Kaesong industrial park, which is run jointly by the two countries and is located in North
Korea. Apr. 3: At a rare plenary meeting of the Central Committee, Kim says North Korea will continue to
develop its nuclear weapons program despite sanctions and restart the mothballed nuclear facility in
Yongbyon. Apr. 4: The U.S. announces it is deploying a missile defense system to Guam as a precautionary
move.
April 1: Despite stiffer sanctions from the UN, North Korean president Kim Jong-un announces plans to
expand nuclear weapons and strengthen the economy in his country. Kim prohibits South Korean workers
from entering the Kaesong industrial park, which is run jointly by the two countries and is located in North
Korea. Apr. 3: At a rare plenary meeting of the Central Committee, Kim says North Korea will continue to
develop its nuclear weapons program despite sanctions and restart the mothballed nuclear facility in
Yongbyon. Apr. 4: The U.S. announces it is deploying a missile defense system to Guam as a precautionary
move.
April 13: Palestinian prime minister Salam Fayyad resigns amid infighting among the top echelon of the
Palestinian Authority and popular discontent. Fayyad is credited with cracking down on corruption in the
West Bank, improving infrastructure, and boosting the economy, which resulted in an increase in
international aid. !
April 14: Nicolas Maduro wins the special presidential election in Venezuela the successor of Hugo Chavez.
He takes office on April 19.!
April 18: Diplomats from both Britain and France report to the United Nations that there is credible
information that the government in Syria has used chemical weapons recently in its civil war. According to
both diplomats, the Syrian government has used chemical weapons multiple times since December 2012.
Officials from Israel also say they have evidence that the Syrian government has used chemical weapons.
President Obama has said that the use of chemical weapons by Syria's government could lead to a military
response by the United States.
April 24: A large building containing several factories in Bangladesh collapses, killing at least 900 people.
Hundreds more are missing in the building's rubble. Known as Rana Plaza, the factories within the building
make clothing for European and American retailers such as JC Penny, Cato Fashions, Benetton and others.
May 31: In Istanbul, Turkey, a sit-in protesting government plans to raze Gezi Park in Taksim Square to build
a shopping mall develops into enormous anti-government demonstrations after police begin spraying
protesters with tear gas and water cannons. The demonstrations spread to dozens of cities throughout
Turkey. June 13: Police storm the park, again spraying protesters with tear gas and water, and force protesters
out of the area.
June 4: A human rights team working for the United Nations reports that there are "reasonable grounds" to
believe that government forces in Syria have used chemical weapons. French foreign minister Laurent
Fabius reports that sarin, a nerve gas, has been used on multiple occasions.
June 9: Edward Snowden, a former CIA employee, admitted that he was the source of leaks about the topsecret surveillance activities of the National Security Agency. June 21: The U.S. government filed espionage
and theft charges against Snowden, who had earlier fled to Hong Kong. The government also requested that
Hong Kong extradite Snowden. June 23: Fighting extradition, Snowden traveled from Hong Kong to
Moscow.
June 15: Hassan Rowhani, a moderate cleric and Iran's former negotiator on nuclear issues, wins Iran's
presidential election, taking just under 51% of the vote.
June 18: The Afghan National Security Force assumes complete responsibility for the security of the country,
taking over the last areas under NATO control.
June 26: Australian prime minister Julia Gillard resigns after being ousted as Labor Party leader in a party
vote. Former Prime Minister Kevin Rudd replaces her as party leader and, the following day, replaces her as
prime minister.
June 30: On the first anniversary of President Mohammed Morsi's inauguration, as many as one million
people take to the streets in planned demonstrations throughout Egypt and call for the president to step
down. Their complaints against Morsi include the dismal state of the economy, Morsi's installation of
members of the Muslim Brotherhood into many positions of power, as well as his failure to stem the
sectarian divide between Sunnis, Shiites, and Christians, among other issues.
July 4: The military deposes Egyptian president Mohammed Morsi and suspends the constitution, saying the
move is an attempt at "national reconciliation" rather than a coup. Morsi, however, calls it a "complete
military coup." He is taken into custody and several members of his inner circle are placed under house
arrest. The move sparks massive protests in support of Morsi.
July 22: Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge, gives birth to a baby boy. The baby is born at 4:24 p.m. and weighs
8 pounds 6 ounces. He is later named George Alexander Louis. He will also have the title His Royal Highness
Prince George of Cambridge and is be third in line to the throne, following Prince Charles and Prince
William.
July 30: Israeli and Palestinian negotiators agree to begin new peace talks with the goal of reaching an
agreement within nine months. The negotiations will be mediated by Martin Indyk, the U.S. State
Department's new Mideast peace envoy.
Aug. 1: Russia grants Edward Snowden, the American who leaked info about U.S. surveillance, asylum for
one year. The temporary asylum allows him to leave the Moscow airport where he has been since June.
Aug. 14: Police raid camps in Cairo, Egypt, where protesters have been demonstrating since the July ouster of
President Mohammed Morsi. More than 500 people are killed, and the government declares a state of
emergency. Mohamed ElBaradei resigns as vice president in protest of the military's action.
Aug. 14: Israelis and Palestinians officially begin peace talks in Jerusalem. Expectations are low going into
the talks, the third attempt to negotiate since 2000, and nearly five years since the last attempt. The talks
begin just hours after Israel releases 26 Palestinian prisoners.
Aug. 21: Opposition groups accuse the Syrian government of attacking rebel areas in Zamalka, Ein Terma,
and Erbeen, suburbs east of Damascus, with chemical weapons. Gruesome, graphic images in the media
show victims foaming at the mouth and twitching and lines of covered corpses. The opposition say as many
as 1,000 people died in the attack. The government denies it used chemical weapons.
Sep. 1: President Barack Obama announces that he will seek Congressional approval for military action
against Syria in response to its alleged attack with chemical weapons on civilians. Sep. 4: The U.S. Senate
Foreign Relations Committee votes, 10 to 7, to authorize military action in Syria. Sep. 15: A U.S.-led military
attack is averted and diplomacy prevails when Russia and the U.S. reach an agreement that Syria must
provide an inventory of its chemicals weapons and production facilities within a week and either turn over
or destroy all of its chemical weapons by mid-2014. If the government fails to comply, then the UN Security
Council will take up the issue.
Sep. 16: The UN confirms in a report that the chemical agent sarin was used near Damascus on Aug. 21.
"Chemical weapons have been used in the ongoing conflict between the parties in the Syrian Arab Republic,
also against civilians, including children, on a relatively large scale," the report says. Sep. 26: The five
permanent members of the Security Council agree on a resolution that requires Syria to hand over its
stockpile of chemical weapons. If Syria fails to comply, then the Security Council will reconvene to
determine repercussions, which could include military action or sanctions.
Sep. 21: Shabab militants, based in Somalia, attack an upscale mall in Nairobi, Kenya, killing nearly 70
people and wounding about 175.
Sep. 22: Chinese politician Bo Xilai is sentenced to life in prison. Eastern China's Jinan Intermediate People's
Court finds him guilty of embezzlement, accepting bribes, and abuses of power, including a failed attempt to
stifle the murder allegations against his wife.
Oct. 5: U.S. commandos capture Nazih Abdul-Hamed al-Ruqai, a high-ranking al-Qaeda operative who is
known as Abu Anas al-Libi, in Tripoli, Lebanon. He was indicted for helping plan the 1998 bombings of the
U.S. Embassies in Kenya and Tanzania.
Oct. 18: Saudi Arabia declines a non-permanent seat on the Security Council, a position it had been working
toward for several years. The unprecedented move stuns both the UN and U.S. diplomats. "Allowing the
ruling regime in Syria to kill and burn its people by the chemical weapons, while the world stands idly,
without applying deterrent sanctions against the Damascus regime, is also irrefutable evidence and proof of
the inability of the Security Council to carry out its duties and responsibilities," the Saudi ambassador to the
UN says in a statement.
Nov. 1: Hakimullah Mehsud, the leader of the Taliban in Pakistan, is killed in a CIA drone strike in Danday
Darpa Khel, a militant stronghold in North Waziristan. It is an important victory over the Taliban for the
U.S.
Nov. 1: The trial of deposed Egyptian president Mohammed Morsi on charges of inciting the murder of
protesters opens briefly in Cairo, but is adjourned until January 2014.
Nov. 24: Iran reaches a six-month deal with the five permanent members of the UN Security Council and
Germany to scale back its nuclear program. Iran agrees to halt production of uranium beyond 5 percent,
which means it could only produce uranium for peaceful purposes; dilute or convert to oxide its stockpile of
uranium enriched to 20 percent; not install new centrifuges; give UN inspectors daily access to enrichment
facilities at Natanz and Fordo. In return, the crippling sanctions against Iran will be eased, pumping between
$6 billion and $7 billion back into Iran's economy.
Dec. 1: Hundreds of thousands of protesters in Kiev, Ukraine, demand that President Viktor Yanukovich
resign. The protesters also call for the country to develop stronger ties to Europe and the West and move
away from Russia. The protests started earlier after Yanukovich refused to sign political and free trade
agreements with the European Union under pressure from Russia.
Dec. 5: Nelson Mandela dies at age 95, after a lung infection and several months of ill health.
Jan. 1: The Senate approve a last minute deal to raise tax rates from 35 to 39.9 percent for those earning more
than $400,000. The deal also temporarily suspends across-the-board spending cuts. Later that night, the
House also passes the legislation. The House vote ends the long dramatic showdown over the fiscal cliff with
only a few hours left of the 112th Congress.
Jan. 16: In response to recent massacres, including the killing of 20 first graders in Newtown, Conn., and 12
moviegoers in Aurora, Colo., President Barack Obama introduces proposals to tighten gun-control laws. His
plan includes universal background checks for gun sales, the reinstatement and strengthening of the assault
weapons ban, limiting ammunition magazines to a 10-round capacity, and other measures.
Jan. 21: On Martin Luther King Jr. Day, President Obama is sworn in for a second term. He becomes the first
president to say the word gay in an Inaugural Address when he compares the battle for same-sex marriage to
past battles over gender and racial equality.
Feb. 12: In the first State of the Union Address of his second term, President Obama focuses on the role
government should play in growing the economy and stabilizing the middle class. He veers away from any
ambitious proposals such as a new stimulus plan in the speech.
March 1: Congress and President Obama do not reach an agreement in time to stop the large budget cuts to
federal spending. As the cuts go into effect, Congressional leaders pledge to end the disagreements over the
federal budget that have threatened to shut down the government for the last two years.
March 26: The Supreme Court begins two days of historical debate over gay marriage. During the debate,
the Supreme Court will consider overturning Proposition 8, the California initiative banning same-sex
marriage, and the Defense of Marriage Act, a federal law passed during the presidency of Bill Clinton, which
defines marriage as between a man and a woman. The Supreme Court decision will be announced in June
2013.
April 15: Multiple bombs explode near the finish line of the Boston Marathon. At least three people are
killed. One is an eight year old boy. More than 170 people are injured. Apr. 18: The FBI releases photos and
video of two suspects in the hope that the public can help identify them. Just hours after the FBI releases the
images, the two suspects rob a gas station in Central Square then shoot and kill a MIT police officer in his
car. Afterwards, the two men carjack a SUV and tell the driver that they had set off the explosions at the
marathon. Police pursue the vehicle into Watertown. During the shootout, a MBTA officer is shot and one of
the suspects, identified as Tamerlan Tsarnaev, age 26, is killed. Apr. 19: The other suspect, Dzhokhar A.
Tsarnaev, age 19, remains at large for several hours, causing a massive manhunt and lockdown for all of
Boston, Cambridge, and many other surrounding communities. The manhunt ends that evening when he is
found alive, but seriously injured, hiding in a boat behind a house in Watertown.
May 2: After same-sex marriage legislation passes in both houses of the state legislature, Governor Lincoln
Chafee signs it into law. The new law, legalizing same-sex marriage, goes into effect in Rhode Island on
August 1, 2013.
May 7: Governor Jack Markell signs the Civil Marriage Equality and Religious Freedom act, legalizing samesex marriage for the state of Delaware. The new law goes into effect on July 1, 2013.
May 13: In Minnesota, the State Senate votes 37 to 30 in favor of legalizing same-sex marriage. The vote
comes a week after it passes in the House. Governor Mark Dayton, a supporter of same-sex marriage, says he
will sign the bill the following afternoon. Gay couples will be able to marry in Minnesota in August 2013.
June 6: The Guardian receives information that reveals that the National Security Agency (NSA) is using
PRISM to spy on the web activities, including email, of U.S. citizens. Through PRISM, a clandestine national
security surveillance program, the NSA has direct access to Facebook, YouTube, Skype, Google, Apple,
Yahoo and other websites. June 7: The Wall Street Journal reports that the NSA also monitors the credit card
transactions and customer records of three major phone service providers. June 8: The Guardian publishes a
report on another NSA tool called Boundless Informant, used by the U.S. government to watch activity in
every country in the world. President Obama confirms the existence of PRISM and its use to spy on the
online activity of U.S. citizens. June 9: Edward Snowden, a former CIA employee, comes forward and admits
that he is the source of the recent NSA leaks.
June 24: In Fisher v. University of Texas, the Supreme Court allows universities to continue considering race
as a factor in admissions to achieve diversity, but it does tell them that they must prove that "available,
workable race-neutral alternatives do not suffice" before considering race. The ruling is considered a
compromise between conservative and liberal factions of the court.
June 25: In Shelby County v. Holder, the Supreme Court strikes down Section 4 of the Voting Rights Act,
which established a formula for Congress to use when determining if a state or voting jurisdiction requires
prior approval before changing its voting laws. Currently under Section 5 of the act nine-mostly Southernstates with a history of discrimination must get clearance from Congress before changing voting rules to
make sure racial minorities are not negatively affected. While the 5-4 decision does not invalidate Section 5,
it makes it toothless.
June 26: The Supreme Court rules that the 1996 Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA) is unconstitutional. In a 5
to 4 vote, the court rules that DOMA violates the rights of gays and lesbians. The court also rules that the law
interferes with the rights of each state to define marriage. It is the first case ever on the issue of gay marriage
for the Supreme Court. June 26: The Supreme Court rules that same-sex marriage opponents in California
did not have standing to appeal the lower court ruling that overturned the ban, known as Proposition 8. This
ruling will most likely remove legal battles for same-sex couples wishing to marry in California. However,
the ruling does not directly affect other states.
July 13: A jury in Florida finds George Zimmerman not guilty of murdering Trayvon Martin. The verdict
sparks outrage on the internet and protests in cities throughout the U.S., but no riots or extreme violence are
reported.
Aug. 12: Notorious Boston gangster James (Whitey) Bulger is found guilty of 31 of the 32 charges he faced,
including murder, extortion, money laundering, drug dealing and possession of weapons. Nov. 14: Bulger,
age 84, receives two consecutive life sentences, plus five years.
Aug. 21: Private Bradley Manning, age 25, is sentenced to 35 years in prison for leaking over 700,000 U.S.
government files to WikiLeaks, files that contained classified U.S. military activities. It is the longest sentence
ever given in the U.S. involving leaked government data to the public. Private Manning can be up for parole
in seven years, according to his attorney. Aug. 22: The day after his sentencing, Manning announces that he
is female and wants to be referred to from now on as Chelsea. In his statement, Manning writes: "As I
transition into this next phase of my life, I want everyone to know the real me. I am Chelsea Manning. I am a
female. Given the way that I feel, and have felt since childhood, I want to begin hormone therapy as soon as
possible. I hope that you will support me in this transition. I also request that, starting today, you refer to me
by my new name and use the feminine pronoun."
Sept. 10: Voters in Colorado throw out of office Democrats John Morse and Angela Giron for their support of
recently enacted gun-control laws that mandate background checks on private gun sales and limit magazine
clips to 15 rounds. The election draws national attention not only for the ouster of the officials but also for
the influx of money on both sides, from the National Rifle Association and New York City mayor Michael
Bloomberg, a gun-control advocate.
Sept. 16: Former Navy reservist Aaron Alexis, 34, kills 12 people at the Washington Navy Yard, near the U.S.
Capitol. Alexis, who had been employed at the base by a military subcontractor, is killed in a shootout with
police.
Sept. 30: The Senate rejects a Republican bill that will fund the government but delay the Affordable Care
Act, also known as Obamacare. The rejection increases the chance of a government shutdown at midnight
because the spending bill must pass to fund the government. With just hours left before the deadline, the
Senate votes against the spending bill, which the House approved over the weekend. The rejection by the
Senate sends the bill back to the House. Oct. 1: Congress fails to agree on a budget and pass a spending bill,
causing the government to shut down. Republicans show no signs of backing down, passing a new bill of
their own in the House. Their bill will fund the government but delay the Affordable Care Act and eliminate
a tax on medical devices that would cover some costs of the new health care program. The government
shutdown forces about 800,000 federal workers off the job. Oct. 10: In an effort to end the shutdown they
began, Republicans in the House offer President Obama a plan to increase the debt limit through Nov. 22 if
he promises to negotiate with them on a tax overhaul and long-term deficit reduction deal. Oct. 16: The night
before the debt ceiling deadline, both the House and Senate approve a bill to fund the government until
January 15, 2014, and raise the debt limit through February 7, 2014. The bill ends the 16-day government
shutdown. It also ends the Republican standoff with President Obama over the Affordable Care Act.
Oct. 21: In an unanimous vote, the New Jersey Supreme Court rejects a request by Gov. Chris Christie to
delay the implementation date of same-sex weddings. Immediately same-sex couples begin to marry,
making New Jersey the 14th state to recognize same-sex marriages.
Nov. 5: In November general elections, the Democrats get a key victory in Virginia when Terry McAuliffe is
elected governor in a tight race. In New Jersey, Republican Chris Christie easily wins a second term as
governor. The decisive win cements him as a frontrunner for the Republican presidential contender in 2016.
In New York City, Democrat Bill de Blasio is elected mayor in a landslide. He defeats Joseph J. Lhota, former
Metropolitan Transportation Authority chairman, by 49 percent. It is the biggest victory for a New York City
mayor since Edward Koch won by 68 percent in 1985. Boston elects a new mayor for the first time in twenty
years in a nonpartisan election. Democrat Martin J. Walsh narrowly beats Democrat City Councilman John
R. Connolly, 52 to 48 percent.
Nov. 5: Illinois becomes the 15th state to recognize same-sex marriages when the House of Representatives
approves the Religious Freedom and Marriage Fairness Act, which passed the state Senate in February 2013.
The new law will be implemented on June 1, 2014.
Nov. 12: Hawaii becomes the 16th state to recognize same-sex marriages when the Senate passes a gay
marriage bill, which had already passed in the House. Beginning December 2, gay couples who are residents
of Hawaii as well as tourists can marry in the state.
Nov. 21: The Senate deploys the "nuclear option," voting 52-48 to end the right of the minority to filibuster
executive and judicial branch nominees. Under the new rules, a simple majority is required to end debate
and move forward with a vote on nominees. The vote is called a monumental, once in a generation change to
Senate procedure.
Dec. 16: The first ruling against the NSA surveillance program is handed down by Judge Richard Leon of
Federal District Court for the District of Columbia. He says the program is "significantly likely" to violate the
Fourth Amendment which addresses protection against unreasonable searches. Dec. 18: Just days after the
ruling, an advisory panel commissioned by President Obama releases a 300-page report that recommends 46
changes to the NSA surveillance program.
2014
The shooting of Michael Brown, an unarmed 18-year-old teenager, and the unrest over the decision by a
grand jury not to indict the police officer dominated headlines in the U.S. during 2014. Midterm elections,
bad calls in the National Football League, the VA medical scandal, uninvited White House guests, net
neutrality, and General Motors recalls were some of the other stories that received a lot of attention
throughout the year.
Ferguson Shooting Sparks National Outrage
The shooting of a teenager by a police officer in a St. Louis suburb leads to unrest and unanswered questions
2014 Midterm Elections
Republicans take control of the Senate
National Football League Drops the Ball
The NFL fumbles on issues of domestic violence and more
Obama's Executive Action Delays Deportation of 5 Million Immigrant
Policy does not offer a path to citizenship
Migrant Minors: FAQS, Facts, and Statistics
Unaccompanied children entering the U.S. from Central America create a humanitarian crisis
Sexual Abuse on Campus
A national debate on how to handle the problem continued throughout the year
VA Medical Care Controversy
Hundreds of veterans in Phoenix wait to see doctors
General Motors Stalled
General Motors knew about defective ignition switches for almost a decade before ordering recalls
Net Neutrality Explained and Answers to FAQs
The history and controversy surrounding net neutrality
White House Intruder
An uninvited guest sheds light on Secret Service shortcomings
Obamacare Rebounds After Shaky Health Care Roll-out
Millions enroll as website glitches are fixed

Senate Intelligence Committee Report Is Highly Critical of CIA Interrogation Techniques
Accusations made by senator prove true with release of report
Botched Executions Raise Concerns
Questions increase over drugs used in lethal injections
Washington State Mudslide Tragedy
The mudslide in the town of Oso is one of the worst in U.S. History
O'Bannon v. NCAA
Ruling against the NCAA could be a game changer
Bit Confused
The Bitcoin receives a lot of attention in 2014
The NSA Surveillance Program: 2014 Developments
An update on the NSA surveillance program
Two States Find Out If the Grass Is Greener on the Legal Side
Starting in 2014, marijuana can be sold legally in Colorado and Washington
Common Core Debate
The argument over intensifies over standards in education
The R Word
The debate heats up over one NFL team's name
The Ebola outbreak in Western Africa, Russia's annexation of Crimea, the ongoing turmoil in Ukraine
between Russian-backed separatists and government troops, and the emergence of the Islamic State of Iraq
and Syria (ISIS) dominated the headlines in 2014. President Barack Obama's pledge to "degrade and destroy"
ISIS led to airstrikes in Iraq and Syria and sparked widespread concern that the U.S. might become dragged
into another long conflict. However, 2014 wasn't all doom and gloom on the diplomatic front, and there were
some positive steps toward democracy in 2014. The U.S. and Cuba restored diplomatic relations, and
elections were held in Afghanistan, Brazil, Egypt, Iraq, Thailand, Tunisia, Turkey, and Ukraine. Some of the
elections were considered largely free and fair, while others were less so. In addition, 86% of voters in
Scotland turned out to decide if Scotland should remain independent. Here's an overview and analysis of
some of the biggest international stories of 2014.
ISIS Explained
Sunni militants terrorize Iraq and Syria in their bid to implement an Islamic state
Ebola Outbreak in Western Africa

The worst single Ebola outbreak in history kills thousands
Russia Annexes Crimea
Putin reclaims region after referendum
The U.S. and Cuba Resume Diplomatic Relations
Pope Francis helped to broker a deal between Presidents Obama and Castra
Russian-Backed Separatists Seek to Claim Territory in Ukraine
After the annexation of Crimea, Russian-backed rebels seize other cities in eastern Ukraine
Taliban Attack on an Army-Run School Kills Dozens in Pakistan
Gruesome attack is retribution for military offensive that killed 1,800 militants
North Korea Accused of Launching a Cyberattack on Sony
Move thought to be in retaliation for comedy about an attempt to assassinate Kim Jong-un
Senate Report Highly Critical of CIA Interrogation Program
Dianne Feinstein accused CIA not only of downplaying torture techniques but also of spying on the Senate
Intelligence Committee and hacking its computer network
Scottish Independence Referendum
Record number of voters head to the polls
U.S. Frees Taliban Prisoners in Exchange for Army Sergeant
Obama criticized for potentially compromising anti-terrorism agenda
New Prime Minister of Iraq Forms a Power-Sharing Government
Nuri al-Maliki finally steps aside, allowing Haider al-Abadi to become prime minister
Significant Elections Held Around the Globe
Some were more democratic than others
Boko Haram Kidnaps Hundreds of School Girls in Nigeria
Islamic sect that opposes Western education terrorizes civilians
U.S. and NATO End Combat Operation in Afghanistan
Remaining U.S. troops will continue to seek out militants
Former President Hosni Mubarak Cleared; Protesters and Journalists Receive Harsh Sentences
Rulings largely turned back the clocks on the Arab Spring protests
The 2014 Hamas Israel Conflict
The murders of Israeli and Palestinian teenagers ignite another conflict in Gaza
New Military Legislation and Call for New Elections Dominate the Political Front in Israel
New law exempts ultra-Orthodox Israelis from military service and Netanyahu dismisses members of his
cabinet
UN-Led Negotiations Fail in Syria
Syrian government criticized for its lack of commitment to the peace process
Iran Agrees to Scale Back Nuclear Program, but Permanent Deal Remains Elusive
Hopeful a deal can be reached, the permanent members of the UN Security Council and Germany and Iran
extend talks
Migrant Minors Flood into the U.S.
Unaccompanied children entering the U.S. from Central America create a humanitarian crisis
Protesters Occupy Government and Business Districts in Hong Kong
Demonstrators demand that citizens have a direct say in who can run in upcoming elections
President of Burkina Faso Deposed in a Coup
Under pressure from the African Union, military agrees to a year-long transition to democracy
Turkey Resists Enaging in the Fight Against ISIS
Eventually shifts its policy under pressure from the U.S.
Military Stages a Coup in Thailand
Country experiences second military coup in less than 10 years
The Artist Known As Banksy
The mysterious artist who continues to make headlines throughout the year
Spring 2015
Acta Biographia - Author Bios
Adreyo Sen
Adreyo Sen is pursuing his MFA at Stony Brook, Southampton.
Alex Neely
Alex Neely has been published in The Tower Journal, The Bicycle Review, The Evening Street Press, The
Reveries, Danse Macabre du Jour, The Manatee and El Portal. Neely is a journalist for the U.S. Army. Over
the past three years, he has covered events and written stories in the U.S., Afghanistan, Kazakhstan, Kuwait
and Kyrgyzstan. Neely was recognized for his journalistic efforts in the Middle East with seven Keith L. Ware
Journalist awards for outstanding achievement in news publications, digital communications, news media,
writing and photography.
Anne Gorrick
Anne Gorrick is the author of: I-Formation (Book 2) (Shearsman Books, Bristol, UK,2012), I-Formation (Book
1) (Shearsman, 2010), and Kyotologic (Shearsman, 2008). She has also co-edited (with Sam Truitt)
In|Filtration: An Anthology of Innovative Poetry from the Hudson River Valley (Station Hill Press,
Barrytown, NY, forthcoming in 2015). She has collaborated with artist Cynthia Winika to produce a limited
edition artists book called Swans, the ice, she said with grants through the Womens Studio Workshop in
Rosendale, NY, and the New York Foundation for the Arts. She has also collaborated on large textual and/or
visual projects with John Bloomberg-Rissman and Scott Helmes. She curates the reading series, Cadmium
Text ( www.cadmiumtextseries.blogspot.com ) and co-curates (with Lynn Behrendt), the electronic journal
Peep/Show at www.peepshowpoetry.blogspot.com Her visual art can be seen at:
www.theropedanceraccompaniesherself.blogspot.com Anne Gorrick lives in West Park, New York.
Aryan Kaganof
Aryan Kaganof is a project of the African Noise Foundation.
Barbara Henning
Barbara Henning is the author of three novels, seven collections of poetry and four chapbooks. Her, most
recent books of poetry are A Day Like Today, forthcoming from Negative Capability Press (2015), A Swift
Passage (Quale Press), Cities and Memory (Chax Press) and a collection of object-sonnets, My Autobiography
(United Artists). She is also the editor of Looking Up Harryette Mullen and The Collected Prose of Bobbie Louise
Hawkins. Barbara lives in New York City and teaches for Writers.com <http://Writers.com> and for Long
Island University in Brooklyn, where she is Professor Emerita.
Billy Cancel
Billy Cancel has recently appeared in Bombay Gin, Gobbett & Other Rooms Press. His new collection
GAUZE COAST has recently been published by Hidden House Press. Sound poems, visual shorts and other
aberrations can be found at www.billycancelpoetry.com
bruno neiva
http://zimzalla.co.uk/objects-2/027-2/
http://www.erbacce-press.com/#/bruno-neiva/4586272149
http://www.knivesforksandspoonspress.co.uk/averbaldraftsone.html
<http://www.knivesforksandspoonspress.co.uk/averbaldraftsone.html>
http://umaestruturaassimsempudor.blogspot.com/
http://umaestruturaassimsempudor.tumblr.com/ <http://umaestruturaassimsempudor.tumblr.com/>
http://servantdrone.tumblr.com/ <http://servantdrone.tumblr.com/>
Charles Borkhuis
Charles Borkhuis is a poet and playwright living in NYC. His 7 books of poems include Disappearing Acts and
Alpha Ruins, which was nominated for a W.C. Williams Book Award. His books of plays include: Mouth of
Shadows and his 2 radio plays, aired on NPR, can be found on pennsound.
Colin Campbell Robinson is an Australian artist currently living in the Celtic extremity of Kernow. Colin has
had numerous pieces published in journals around the world.
Christopher Brownsword
Christopher Brownsword is the author of two collections of poetry, 'Icarus was Right!' (Shearsman Books
2010) and 'Rise Like Leviathan and Rejoice!' (Oneiros Books 2014), a novella 'Blind-Worm Cycle' (Oneiros
Books 2013), and two novels, 'The Scorched Highway' (Oneiros Books 2013) and 'Throw Away the Lights'
(Oneiros Books 2014).
Clare Holman-Hobbs
Clare is a writer and performance poet from East Sussex, currently working on a novel and her first poetry
collection.
Christopher Lyke
Christopher Lyke is a writer, a musician, and a teacher living in Chicago. He spent several years on paid
vacations for Uncle Sam, but is happy to be back in Bucktown taking glaring-eyed runs past the mansions he
cant afford. He is the co-founder and editor of Line of Advance, a literary outlet for veterans.
Cynthia Ring
Cynthia Ring began writing poetry in the Mojave Desert in 2005. She writes imagist experimental poetry and
is working on a book of human rights poetry. She currently lives in Nashville.
Daniel Morris
Daniel Y. Harris
Daniel Y. Harris is the author of Esophagus Writ (with Rupert M. Loydell, The Knives Forks and Spoons Press, 2014),
Hyperlinks of Anxiety (Cervena Barva Press, 2013), The New Arcana (with John Amen, NYQ Books, 2012), Paul Celan and
the Messiahs Broken Levered Tongue (with Adam Shechter, Cervena Barva Press, 2010; picked by The Jewish Forward as
one of the 5 most important Jewish poetry books of 2010) and Unio Mystica (Cross-Cultural Communications, 2009).
Some of his poetry, experimental writing, art, and essays have been published in BlazeVOX, Denver Quarterly, European
Judaism, Exquisite Corpse, The New York Quarterly, In Posse Review, The Pedestal Magazine, Poetry Magazine.com and Poetry
Salzburg Review. He is the Chairman of the Board of Directors of The New York Quarterly Foundation. His website is
www.danielyharris.com <http://www.danielyharris.com/> .
Gregory Prendergast
hiromi suzuki
hiromi suzuki is an illustrator, poet, artist. Lives in Tokyo, Japan.
A contributor of Japanese poetry magazine 'gui' (Running by the members of Katsue Kitasono's "VOU").
Author of Ms. cried 77 poems by hiromi suzuki (kisaragi publishing, 2013 ISBN978-4-901850-42-1).
j4
j4 is a collective of four persons, all given names beginning with j, who are compelled to explore
transindividual composition
Jake Grieco
I'm finishing my undergraduate creative writing degree at the University of Cincinnati in May and then
moving to Boulder, Colorado in the Fall to pursue my MFA in Creative Writing at the Jack Kerouac School
of Disembodied Poetics at Naropa University.
Janet Mason
I am an award-winning writer and blogger for The Huffington Post. My book, Tea Leaves, a memoir of mothers
and daughters, was published by Bella Books in 2012. Well-received and reviewed internationally, Tea Leaves
was recognized by the American Library Association and received a 2013 Goldie Award. Recently my short
fiction has been published in Magnolia: A Journal of Women's Socially Engaged Literature, On Barcelona, Certain
Circuits Magazine, and APIARY Magazine. "A Perfect Mind" is the first published excerpt of her my recently
completed novel that is based partly on the Bible and explores the fluidity of gender.
Jim Kincaid
Jim Kincaid, somehow still at large, has published academic books, general non-fiction, two novels, and
several short stories. He's taught at Ohio State, Berkeley, Colorado, USC, and still drones on at Pitt.
Jefferson Hansen
Jefferson Hansen is the author, most recently, of Cruelty (BlazeVOX), a collection of short stories, and
...beefheart saved craig (BlazeVOX), a novel. His selected poems is entitled Jazz Forms (Blue Lion).
John Rigney
John Rigney teaches English at Kenmore West High School outside of Buffalo, New York. He and his wife,
Dana, are the proprietors of The Second Reader Bookshop, a used bookstore in Buffalo, and the proud
parents of their daughter, Fiona, who is already pursuing her own creative bent in writing and filmmaking
(shes 11). John received his MA in Literature from Buffalo State College in 2000 and his BA in English from
LeMoyne College in 1989. The poems in this selection were for the most part written in tandem with his
students in his creative writing workshop class last fall at Kenmore West.
Jordana Meade
Jordana Meade is a writer and poet based in New York City, previously residing in Australia and South East
Asia.
Jorge Lucio de Campos was born (1958) in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. He is a Associated Professor of Philosophy
and Theory of Communication and Culture at Escola Superior de Desenho Industrial (ESDI) of the
Universidade do Estado do Rio de Janeiro (UERJ). As a poet, he published the books Arcangelo (EdUERJ, Rio
de Janeiro, 1991), Speculum (EdUERJ, Rio de Janeiro, 1993), Belveder (Diadorim, Rio de Janeiro, 1994), A dor da
linguagem (Sette Letras, Rio de Janeiro, 1996), maneira negra (Sette Letras, Rio de Janeiro, 1997) e Prtica do
azul, (Lumme, So Paulo, 2009). His poems, essays and interviews circulate in various printed and virtual
magazines and sites
Josh Smith
Infiltrate. Destroy. Rebuild.
Josh Smith has already insinuated himself into the cogs and gears of the literary machine published by
the likes of Ploughshares, studying at Harvard. He sits on the Board of Directors of Canadas longest-running
poetry series.
Phase One, is nearing completion....
Julia Lynn Rubin
Julia Lynn Rubin is a freelance writer currently living in Brooklyn, where she is working on her first novel.
Her fiction has appeared in the North American Review, The Lascaux Review, and is forthcoming in Black
Denim Lit and Dewpoint.
Kurt Cline
Kurt Cline is Associate Professor of English and World Comparative Literature, National Taipei University
of Technology. Poems and stories have appeared, most recently, in Wilderness House Literary Review,
Apocrypha and Abstractions, Black Scat, The Bicycle Review, and Clockwise Cat. Scholarly articles have appeared
in Anthropology of Consciousness; Concentric, Beatdom Literary Journal; and Comparative Civilizations and
Cultures: Journal of the Jean Gebser Society.
Kyle A. Valenta
Kyle A. Valenta received his MFA from Columbia University in 2013. His work can be seen in Sixfold,
Blackbird and thethepoetry.com <http://thethepoetry.com> . He was a finalist for the 2013 Susan Atefat Prize
administered by Arts & Letters Journal, and in 2014 was accepted to the Tin House Writer's Workshop and
featured in the Lamprophonic Emerging Writers Reading Series. He is at work on a novel and collection of
short stories inspired by the lives of escorts, fat girls, femmes, illegals, Tibetan lamas and lovers without
desire. He lives in New York.
Linda King
Linda King is the author of Dream Street Details and Reality Wayfarers, both from Shoe Music Press. Her
poems have appeared in numerous journals in Canada and internationally - Room, CV2, Existere, The Toronto
Quarterly, Lumina, Fourteen Hills, Gargoyle, Envoi, nthPosition. She lives and writes near the sea on The
Sunshine Coast of British Columbia.
Madiha Kahn
Madiha Khan is a confused undergrad student in Ontario, Canada. Her work has previously appeared in
Literary Orphans, as well as her twitter page.
Kelli Rush
Kelli Rush's poems have appeared in The Hawaii Review, Wicked Alice, The Nantahala Review, and a
couple of other, smaller journals.
Mark Cunningham
Mark Cunningham has two books out from BlazeVOX: 71 Leaves (an e-book) and specimens (print).
Mark Young
Mark Youngs most recent books are the eclectic world from gradient books of Finland, & a chapbook of visual
poems, Arachnid Nebula, from Luna Bisonte Prods. A new collection, HOTUS POTUS, will be published by
Meritage Press in 2015.
Maureen Mulhern
Maureen Mulhern has a BA from Sarah Lawrence College, and a MFA from the University of Iowas Writers
Workshop. Her poems have appeared in a number of journals, including Crazyhorse, Denver Quarterly,
Indiana Review, Phoebe, Poetry, and Prairie Schooner. Parallax, her first book of poetry, was published by
Wesleyan University Press. Born in Birmingham, England, Maureen spent her early years in the UK before
moving to the US where she is a naturalized citizen. She and her husband, tenor saxophonist Doug White,
have one son, twelve cats; and are the founders of independent jazz record label, Juniper Records.
Maxwell Gontarek
Maxwell Gontarek is a Johns Hopkins University sophomore from Philadelphia. He has been published in
Apiary, Thoroughfare, Mad Poets Review, and the Johns Hopkins News Letter. He is a columnist and editor
for Vector Magazine and a music director for WJHU. He writes music and sings in a nameless duo and has
played bass for Best New Music, Danny and the Dabs, Cedar Limbs, and Percy Sledj.
Michael Martrich
Michael Martrich is a writer and musician from eastern Pennsylvania. He is the author of LIKE A SEWNUP SKIN WITH SALT NEAR-RECOGNIZING THE SEA: AN IDIOT BODY WITHOUT ORGANS
THREATENED AND TEMPTED BY BECOMING (LISTENING, WHISPERING) SEA-GHOST.
Michael Paul Hogan
Born in London, Michael Paul Hogan has been a horse racing correspondent, a dishwasher, a bartender, a
copy editor, a commercial fisherman, a literary essayist, and a Features Writer and Columnist in Key West.
He is currently working on a collection of Surrealist short stories and lives with his wife Susan in NE China.
Michele F Sweeney
Michele F Sweeney lives in Sydney, Australia and is a mother of a son, a secondary Drama & English
Teacher and a woman who believes in the magic of the theatre, Spring and red lipstick.
Mirline Petit-Frere
Mirline Petit-Frere currently lives in Boynton Beach, FL with her parents and brothers. She works with four
and five year olds at a preschool and enjoys reading various genres during her free time. She also loves to
write and is committed to learning all styles and forms of writing. She also has two blogs that she is currently
working on which can both be found at: novareign.blogspot.com <http://novareign.blogspot.com> .
Naomi Buck Palagi
Naomi Buck Palagi has work published in journals such as Spoon River Review, Otoliths, Moria, Eleven
Eleven, Blue Fifth Review and Requited. Additionally, she has two chapbooks, Silver Roof Tantrum
(dancing girl press, 2010), and Darkness in the Tent (Dusie Kollectiv 5, 2011).
Nat Buchbinder
Nat Buchbinder's novel, Pando, advanced to the semifinals of the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards. Her
work has been published in Circa Journal, The Stonesthrow Review and Honesty for Breakfast.
Natsuko Hirata
Natsuko Hirata is a resident of Tokyo, She is the editor of Quince Wharf, an e-journal that includes
translations into Japanese of poetry in English. She has done translations of the work of Sandy McIntosh and
Thomas Fink, and she is currently studying poem writing with Thomas Fink. Her poetry has appeared in the
Marsh Hawk Review, Otoliths, and BlazeVOX. mail to Natsuko Hirata; midsummerchild@gmail.com
Nick Monks
Nick Monks lives near Preston Lancashire. He studied philosophy at Hull University. Spent About seven
years working and travelling the world. His latest pamphlet Cities Like Jerusalem was published by
bluebell publishing. Hes currently trying to work on a first novel and TV script
Parker Weston
Parker Weston is a multimedia artist residing in Mesa, Arizona (voted the most conservative big city in the
United States) mainly focused on assemblage/sculpture. He has a comic strip, Animation Taxidermy, several
short animations and musical project Stembreo, to boot. When he was a child, an overpaid psychic told his
mother that he would be a writer someday. He was relieved later that she was spared the news that along the
way he would be an adult shop janitor and backpacking drifter before this writing business ever came into
effect.
Paul Dickey
My first full length poetry manuscript They Say This is How Death Came Into the World was published by
Mayapple Press in January, 2011. My poetry has appeared in Verse Daily, Sentence: A Journal of Prose
Poetics, Southern Poetry Review, Pleaides, 32Poems, Bellevue Literary Review, Crab Orchard Review and
online at Linebreak, among other online and print publications. A second book, Wires Over the Homeplace
was published by Pinyon Publishing in October 2013.
Peter Donnelly
Peter Donnelly was born in Dublin in 1988. He graduated with a BA International and an MA in English
from University College, Dublin, concentrating on James Joyces Finnegans Wake in the case of the latter. In
2010 he began to publish poetry in journals across Ireland and within UCD, where he won the
Undergraduate Poetry Award; his work has been said to create worlds in which "the familiar and the alien
have been seamlessly fused together" by the 2013 University Observers Arts Editor Steven Balbirnie.
His first collection, Photons, was published by Appello Press in 2014. Following its publication, celebrated
playwright Frank McGuinness stated "Peter Donnelly already shows he has a strong imagination. Indeed, a
savage one presents itself on occasion when the beautiful and brutal confront and confound each other."
Philip Bowne
Philip Bowne is a student of English Literature and Creative Writing at the University of Gloucestershire.
His short fiction has been published in The Lampeter Review, Carnival anthology and by Birkbeck University's
Writers' Hub. He has written extensively for Endsleigh, including a month long InterRail blog, detailing his
experiences travelling around Europe for a month, and another blog about a week without technology. The
Guardian published an article of his based on InterRail, this autumn. Philip is currently working on his first
novel.
Sudha Srivatsan
Sudha was born and raised in India. A daughter, wife and sister, she has worked in the Middle East and
London. Sudha aspires to be known in the space of poetry as someone who weaves magic into language and
combines unique design and strong color to her work of art. Her work has appeared in The Commonline
Journal, the Germ Magazine, Carcinogenic, Indiana Voice Journal, Bewildering Stories and due to appear in
Leaves of Ink, Mused Literary Review, Subterranean Blue, Corner Club press; she has been a winner of
poetry contests and was recently shortlisted for the Mary Charman Smith Poetry Competition.
Raymond Farr
Raymond Farr is author of Ecstatic/.of facts (Otoliths 2011), & Writing What For? across the Mourning Sky (Blue
& Yellow Dog 2012). His poems appear in And/Or, Blaze Vox, West Wind Review, Otoliths, Upstairs at
Duroc, Cricket On Line, & Eratio. He has a chapbook, Eating the Word NOISE! Which is slated for February
2015 publication by White Knuckle Chaps & another full length collection of poems Poetry in the Age of Zero
Grav due out from Blue & Yellow Dog in mid 2015. He is editor of Blue & Yellow Dog
http://blueyellowdog.weebly.com
Rich Murphy
Robert Lietz
My poems have appeared in more than one hundred journals in the U.S. and Canada, in Sweden and U.K,
including Agni Review, Antioch Review, Carolina Quarterly, The Colorado Review, Epoch, The Georgia Review,
Mid-American Review, The Missouri Review, The North American Review, The Ontario Review, Poetry, and
Shenandoah. Eight collections of poems have been published, including Running in Place (LEpervier Press,).
At Park and East Division ( LEpervier Press,) The Lindbergh Half-century (LEpervier Press,) The Inheritance
(Sandhills Press,) and Storm Service (Basfal Books). Basfal also published After Business in the West: New and
Selected Poems. Besides the print publications poems have appeared in several webzines. A net search for
"Robert Lietz poetry" will provide a representative selection. I have also completed several other print and
hypertext (hypermedia) collections of poems for publication, including Character in the Works: TwentiethCentury Lives, West of Luna Pier, Spooking in the Ruins, Keeping Touch, and Eating Asiago & Drinking Beer. I
spend a good deal of time taking, post-processing, and printing photographs I have been making for the past
several years, exploring the relationship between the image-making and the poems I have made and am
exploring.
Robert Wexelblatt
Robert Wexelblatt is professor of humanities at Boston Universitys College of General Studies. He has published the
story collections Life in the Temperate Zone and The Decline of Our Neighborhood; a book of essays, Professors at Play; two
short novels, Losses and The Derangement of Jules Torquemal, and essays, stories, and poems in a variety of journals. His
novel Zublinka Among Women won the Indie Book Awards first-place prize for fiction. His most recent book is The Artist
Wears Rough Clothing. Another, Heibergs Twitch, is forthcoming.
Roger Craik
Roger Craik, Associate Professor of English at Kent State University Ashtabula, has written three full-length
poetry books I Simply Stared (2002), Rhinoceros in Clumber Park (2003) and The Darkening Green (2004),
and the chapbook Those Years (2007), (translated into Bulgarian in 2009), and, most recently, Of England
Still (2009). His poetry has appeared in several national poetry journals, such as The Formalist, Fulcrum,
The Literary Review and The Atlanta Review. English by birth and educated at the universities of Reading
and Southampton, Craik has worked as a journalist, TV critic and chess columnist. Before coming to the
USA in 1991, he worked in Turkish universities and was awarded a Beineke Fellowship to Yale in 1990. He is
widely traveled, having visited North Yemen, Egypt, South Africa, Tibet, Nepal, Japan, Bulgaria (where he
taught during spring 2007 on a Fulbright Scholarship to Sofia University), and, more recently, the United
Arab Emirates, Austria, and Croatia. His poems have appeared in Romanian, and from 2013-14 he is a
Fulbright Scholar at Oradea University in Romania. Poetry is his passion: he writes for at least an hour, over
coffee, each morning before breakfast, and he enjoys watching the birds during all the seasons.
S. M. Hutton
S. M. Hutton has been published in A Celebration of Western New York Poets, [the advancing idiom],
Artvoice, The Buffalo News - Spotlight: Poetry, Brigids Fire, and NOMAD: Art + Word from the Buffalo
Herd. She was the winner of the 2006 SUNY at Buffalo Arthur Axlerod Memorial Award for poetry. She
received her B.A. from SUNY at Buffalo, NY in Media Study. Until 1995, she studied and worked as an
independent video and film production artist. In 2011, she worked as a co-organizer of the inaugural annual
global movement, 100,000 Poets for Change, and the event in Buffalo, NY. She lives in Western New York.
Scott Penney
Recent publications are Artful Dodge, basalt, Faultline, Fugue, and Salon. In 2013, I was a resident at the
Vermont Studio Center. In 2014, I was a resident of the MacDowell Colony.
Shailee Perry
I'm currently on my way to getting a Bachelors degree in English from Brigham Young University-Idaho.
Creative nonfiction works are my favorite pieces to put together, so I do my best to do the most exciting
things in life so that I'll have something interesting to write about. I've worked as a Wild land Firefighter for
the past two summers, and I plan on continuing that career for as long as I can. Hiking through the
mountains and chasing after fire is a dream come true!
Robert Sheppard
Robert Sheppard lives in Liverpool, UK, and is Professor of Poetry and Poetics at Edge Hill University and he
co-organises the Storm and Golden Sky reading series. His autrebiographies Words Out of Time are
forthcoming and he is currently de-selecting poems for a selected poems. His latest book from Shearsman, A
Translated Man, contains the fictional poems of a supposed Belgian poet, Ren Van Valckenborch.
Emboldened by this experiment, he is curating a collaborative enterprise to write the works of the 28
European Union of Imaginary Poets that were invented by Van Valckenborch. The Ern Malley Suite is
Sheppards contribution as himself to this project. He blogs a lot at www.robertsheppard.blogspot.com. He is
writing a critical book on form.
Simon Perchik
Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review,
The Nation, Osiris, Poetry, The New Yorker, and elsewhere. His most recent collection is Almost Rain,
published by River Otter Press (2013). For more information, free e-books and his essay titled Magic,
Illusion and Other Realities please visit his website at www.simonperchik.com.
Spencer Dew
Sophia Pandeya
Sophia Pandeya is an in-between, an inhabitant of hyphen. A South Asian-American poet whose ancestry
lies in India, she was born in Pakistan, on the other side of an artificial border trumped up from identity
politics and the entrails of empire. Ever since, she has been obsessed with dismantling the concept of
otherness and borders into one big yarn. Consequently her writing dwells in the liminal, engaging with
borders that are linguistic, cultural, religious, temporal, personal, geographical and metaphysical. She
herself crossed quite a few onerous borders before moving to New York in 1989 where she met her husband
Raam Pandeya, a former journalist, poet, and adept of an ancient healing known as Kayakalpa, which she
has imbibed and practiced for the last two and a half decades. During her time in Manhattan she also
garnered critical acclaim for her acting as a deranged immigrant housewife in Bina Sharifs Watchman at the
Theater For The New City, before moving to California where she currently resides with her husband and
son. Her poetry has been published in the print anthologies, Cactus Heart, Askew Poetry, Bank Heavy Press
and Spilled Ink as well in a number of online journals including Poetry International, The Adirondack
Review, The Daily O, Lantern Journal, Convergence Journal and Full Of Crow. Peripheries, her
debut collection of poems is being published by Cyberhex Press in July.
Stephanie Kaylor
Nicholas Alexander Hayes is the author of Between (Atropos Press) and NIV: 39 & 27 (BlazeVOX [books]).
His recent writing has appeared in Your Impossible Voice and Requited Journal.
Valerie Smith
Valerie Smith is a graduate student in the Master of Arts in Professional Writing program at Kennesaw State
University. Her poetry has appeared in Speakin Out News, The Pointer, and Circle in the Spiral. Her prose has
appeared in The East Cobber and The Bright Side. She is a freelance editor, elementary school teacher, and
member of the Georgia Writers Association.
Vincent Craig Wright
Vincent Craig Wright is a short story writer and songwriter from Ashland Oregon. Professor of Creative
Writing at Southern Oregon University, recently Craigs stories have appeared in BlazeVox, Vol. 1 Brooklyn,
Fourteen Hills, Solstice, SleetMagazine and The Harvard Advocate. Craig has published one book of stories,
Redemption Center (Bear Star Press) and songs with Megatrax and BMG.
Wade Stevenson
Wade Stevenson was born in New York City in 1945. He is the author of several books of poetry, a memoir
One Time in Paris and a novel, The Electric Affinities.
Nickolas Maynard
When ever I am asked to write a brief or summarized account of my life; I always find myself
pondering at the prospect of actually accomplishing such a task. I only say this because I naturally tend to
lure my self down the streets of tangency; as if I were a tourist in a country I had never been, but had yet felt
so familiar with. Even now my fingers form a little rhythm, gliding across the keyboard, while my mind
wanders aimlessly through thoughts and experiences. Purposefully aimless or aimlessly purposeful; sounds
like a conundrum--I can imagine--but it is part of a process of discovery. Each time I sit down and write one
of these, I discover something new about myself. Terrified of vanity, I intentionally try to steer clear from
accolades and accomplishments. As of late, silence has become my enemy, deafening almost, an empty void
where a curious and wandering mind wishes not to wander; but rather forget. It is shame I fear the most,
deliver me from evil and forgive me of my trespasses as I forgive those that trespass against me...myself----my own worst enemy.
I was born in Bangor, ME in the year of our lord 1983. Yes it is the same town where the infamous
Stephen King dwells in his gargoyle protected mansion. None the less, it is the birthplace of this young
writer, Nickolas Maynard; son of Albert and Susan Maynard and not to mention, damn proud to be that son.
Before I go any further, I must bring light to the most unique sister a brother could ever ask for, Sara; 3 years
my sibling and like her brother: tough as nails and just as sharp. I couldnt of asked for a better family or a
better childhood; my parents were and still are figures of inspiration to me. Even though they are divorced,
they are living joyful lives and they are the most honorable people I have ever met or aspired more to be
like---I would have taken any attribute, integrity (something they both share), I wonder if I truly possess that
quality. I suppose if I did, I wouldn't be wondering if I had it or not.
I broke every rule, my first phrases as a child was contradictory: I said yes, I said no. I guess thats
one of those blanket remarks that covers all your bases. One could never really lose an argument; I was a
smart little piss ant and I knew it. I started skateboarding, playing guitar, wooing girls, playing tennis,
playing baseball, wooing girls, snowboarding, and wooing girls. The wooing was done with the assistance of
Dave Matthews, a pretty good singing voice and the gift gab. I dont know if I mentioned poetry as part of the
wooing process, but yes, poetry was an integral part at dazzling my girlfriends. I wrote and still write in a
fashion that would be called Stream of Consciousness writing; where the poem started and stopped when
my fingers stopped, each sentenced started and finished as if the letter that made each word had minds of
their own, an agenda, the perfect thought, the perfectly imperfect perfection and flow of it all--this whole Bio
is being written the same way. I have no recollection of how I started or where Ive been taking you, but
something tells me it will all make sense somehow.
I had romance and love, I had romances and love, pure love. When I was 11 the first CD I got was
James Brown The Golden Hits the second CD was The Quintessential Billy Holiday. To this day, I have
memorized every word and the memories of each song are so special to me. I had a much stronger
connection to music back then, pure, innocent, hopelessly foolish but romantic at heart and not foolishly. I
miss--me--I look in the mirror and I see a stranger; empty and devoid of the foolishly cherished moments
and words that painted life with an array of colors and left out the blacks and the greys.those would come
later. I am remiss and cannot go down that tangent.
I was a reckless endangerment to society in my late teens! I defied everything, church, the law, the
universe, everything and anything. I lived through more life or death encounters in 3 years than most do
their entire lives. Not to mention, this tomfoolery was before I decided to join the Army. I was completely
against the idea, and I mean against with every drop of blood in my body; until one night, asleep, I had a
dream. That night, somewhere around September 2003, I dreamt that I was in World War II and some guy
was grabbing my arm, he was covered in blood and kept asking me to read him his last rites than tell
something to his wife. No matter what I did, the shelling and gunfire in the background was too loud for me
to hear what this guy was saying. I grew angry and more angry until I screamed (to whom I presumed were
the Nazis) Will you shut up already! I cant hear a God damn thing!. I woke up, angry and for the life of me I
couldnt figure out why. I remember the dream later that day and I when I say later I mean the moment that
I signed the dotted line for a 5 year contract and 3 years of Inactive Ready Reserve for the United States
Army, Military Police.
Nov 19th, 2003 was the day I swore my oath of enlistment. Little did I know, this little mantra,
repeated by 13 people or so in a small room covered in flags, was going to be my undoing. I was going to be
torn to pieces and put back together again. Some for the good, some for the worse.
7 years and some change, I served 2 tours in Iraq and one in Korea, right on the DMZ. God told me I
had a gift, well two gifts actually, the gift of gab and how to spill it on to paper and the gift on how to train a
dog to find bombs, bad guys and bite the bad guys when I found them (if they failed to cooperate). I was a
sponge, I was a fast tracker, I absorbed every piece of training advice I could from anyone anywhere; ever if it
was bad. I would just put it into my mental tool box and drive on. I wanted, so bad, to leave the MP corps and
go ODA, Special Forces K9 or Ranger K9. Those programs never existed when I became a handler in early
2005.
Iraq, I am afraid I cannot divulge any information on that subject. I still get excited about the feelings
of adrenaline pumping through my veins. Ergo, my mind is probably still over there, and lets keep that on
the QT.
War, combat, good lord I was born again and killed, buried born again, killed and buried, then born
again. I have no idea where I am right now. I am attending community college at CCBC in Essex Maryland
and I am alive. I have a beautiful daughter and a loving family. I dont know what is going to happen to me,
but I just hope I find my sense of humor so I can pass that on to my 2 years and 4 months old (who looks just
like me) like it was a enchanting gift or something, you know, like a cool trick to wow your friends, the trick
of always being funny, even if its awkward and untimed, its just Maynard, as my friends would call it. I must
say, I do see a comedic resemblance of myself in my father.I am laughing out loud...that goes to my
mother.
I miss my little family and I am so grateful for my new adventure as a father. To my mother I will say,
There will always be a TV show or an Art gallery we can sit down and laugh at..to my father I would say, I
cant wait for that cup of coffee, your morning sense of humor and the rocking chairs.not to forget...the
unforgettable smell of Maine pine on a summer morning. To my sister I will say, we laugh all the time and
we both need to go to Road Rage Management classes. To my daughter, Madelyn Paige Maynard, I love you
with all my heart, you look just like Daddy and if you only knew how brushes with death that almost took
your father life...I would rather you know how many miracles I have been given to find my to you.
I live in Freeland, MD with my wife, Monica, I love you and my daughter Madelyn. To my whole
family I love all of you. This was suppose to be a short bio?

BlazeVOX15 - A Journal of Poetry and Voice - Spring 15

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

BlazeVOX15 - A Journal of Poetry and Voice - Spring 15

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

BlazeVOX15 - A Journal of Poetry and Voice - Spring 15

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

an online journal of voice

BlazeVOX 15 | an online journal of voice

p ublisher of weird little books

three-piece text art series entitled 'un-brushed'

Creative Non-Fiction & Reviews

15 Questions | Interviews with BlazeVOX Authors

Acta Biographia Author Biographies

New Releases from BlazeVOX Books

Explore more here

Against Misanthropy, A Life in Poetry (2015-1995) by Eileen R. Tabios

Read Preview here | Explore more here

Apollo by Geoffrey Gatza

Read Preview here | Explore more here

An Argument of Roots by Cornelia Veenendaal

Read Preview here | Explore more here

DRINK By Laura Madeline Wiseman

Read Preview here | Explore more here

Going With The Flow by Peter Siedlecki

Read Preview here | Explore more here

K- A 21st Century Canzoniere by I Goldfarb

Read Preview here | Explore more here

Metamericana by Seth Abramson

Read Preview here | Explore more here

Minnows Small as Sixteenth Notes- The Collected Poems of Norma Kassirer

Read Preview here | Explore more here

Scorched Altar- Selected Poems & Stories By Kristina Marie Darling

Read Preview here | Explore more here

Showgirls The Movie in Sestinas by Jeffery Conway

Read Preview here | Explore more here

Starlight- 150 Poems by John Tranter

Read Preview here | Explore more here

The Arctic Circle by Kristina Marie Darling

Read Preview here | Explore more here

Those Godawful Streets of Man by Stephen Bett

Read Preview here | Explore more here

Three Plays by Deborah Meadows

Read Preview here | Explore more here

Two Books on the GasAbove the Shale and Achieved by Kissing

Read Preview here | Explore more here

an online journal of voice

Happy Fifteenth Anniversary to BlazeVOX!!!

The Moon Exists for Poetry

Poetry can be this song,

In this there is no room for freedom

Ode To Kanye Wests Dick

What is it like to be the gilded cock of a pharaoh?

But your heads in the right place. Im picturing

Capitoline Wolf Statue, Cincinnati

Sometimes I Feel Like Not Much

And one day

Accordingly we may affirm that to be true art which does not

the sincerity of sperm on skin isn't a comic book.

[frontispiece: in sky norms

edit me out of this [edit me out of this] in a city called __________

empty buildings. Sarcasm Avenue a bliss to treasure

everything looks in at your expanding eroding parts, rub

I dont like the look of them house centipedes2

we qualify the unneeded clarified and compromise

Might as well pick up and off of it.