April 9, 2020

“Review for a Canvas Fanny Pack,” by Kerry Langan

Posted by in Writing
“Review for a Canvas Fanny Pack,” by Kerry Langan

Heading for Review:  Big Mistake  Reviewer Name: SheWhoIsDisappointedandIsGoingtoTellYouHowMuch   I gave this fanny pack one star because there was no option to give it no stars. If you try to leave the 5-star graphic blank, it won’t let you go to the box where you’re supposed to leave the actual review. So, just know that I gave this one star but it should be no stars. Zilch.  First of all, I ordered an apple green fanny pack from HikeBike.com when they were running that sale a couple weeks ago. Apple green, like the color of grass in July and my favorite sweater and, well, green apples! In the photo they ran during the sale, the fanny pack looks like it would match a Granny Smith. I love apple green. If you opened my closet door, you’d see that almost everything is green. Kevin, my ex, told me once that green was a great color with my brown…

Continue reading →

April 6, 2020

“‘The Misfits’ Revisited,” Poetry by Stephen Mead

Posted by in Writing
“‘The Misfits’ Revisited,” Poetry by Stephen Mead

“The Misfits” Revisited*   When you chased, lassoed the mustangs,  tying hooves to necks of down  weighed by tires heavy as trucks,  you wrenched the galloping out of me  till I found my rage…    Butchers!  What is the spirit if not these horses  wild first to last, these zeniths, comet-  tailed, free as the sage, the mountains,  the thousand miles of it?    That is me down there in the dust.  That is you who cannot see yourself  for the sign of dog food dollars,  a cowboy’s wage, the dream  gone to blood.    Put my blood on your fingers.  Lick clean.  Let whiskey drown the taste.  The taste will come back, the beleaguering   fever and freedom here truly trotting  beyond your ropes which shake and shake.    Lost boy, lost cow poke,  I will…

Continue reading →

April 3, 2020

“Windfall: An Audio Drama,” by Bob Raymonda

Posted by in Audio Arts
“Windfall: An Audio Drama,” by Bob Raymonda

Windfall is a serialized audio drama created by Bob and Adam Raymonda and Christy Donato. Their story starts when the castle first appeared in the sky above the city of Windfall, its residents have been building upward. Now the city consists of towers where the wealthiest residents live at the top, while the poor eke out a living on the ground. Our podcast follows Cas, Shaima, and Argus, three brothers who live with their Uncle Vern after being orphaned during the grounder rebellion twenty years earlier. They find themselves drifting apart as Argus, the youngest, falls hopelessly in love with the much-older Helina, a foreign merchant haunted by her past. Cas, the middle brother, works in secret for the local crime boss. Shaima, the oldest, struggles to keep their uncle’s scrap shop from going under….

Continue reading →

April 2, 2020

William Crawford — Forensic Foraging Photography

Posted by in Fine Art
William Crawford — Forensic Foraging Photography

Artist’s Statement: The trite, trivial and mundane are often dismissed by today’s technology driven photographers. Images shot can unlock the beauty and intrinsic value hidden in most everyday things. Thus, an old fractured glass window found on a wrecked desert shack might better be presented as a compelling image. Such a transformational presentation can be achieved by applying basic photographic techniques: framing, lighting, coloration, saturation, contrast, etc. This precise application of seminal tenets can often transform the mundane into something pleasing. This process forms the essence of Forensic Foraging. Photographers today possess a plethora of powerful technical tools. High resolution sensors, potent post processing software, and cameras with such jacked up processors that they could, in a pinch, support the governmental operations of a small city. Many camera images today all but surpass the human capacities…

Continue reading →

March 29, 2020

“Crimson,” A Short Story by Zach Lattman

Posted by in Writing
“Crimson,” A Short Story by Zach Lattman

Ester hated that dress. But it was the only thing she had for tonight. Since graduating law school, she, and four other classmates would get together once a month. Supposedly, they were all such great friends, and they didn’t want graduation to pull them apart. But to Ester, it felt fake—almost coerced. It felt more like preemptive networking; everyone was keeping tabs on each other in case they needed a favor down the road. Ester never voiced that concern to anyone. Surely, it was all in her head, she told herself. But still, in her more cynical, or rather, her more honest moments, she doubted everyone’s authenticity—even her own.  She leaned back against the living room wall and stared out the window into the late-spring evening. Chicago looked beautiful at night. From Ginny’s 21st-floor condo, it looked like…

Continue reading →

March 24, 2020

“Deep Fried,” A Short Story by Matt Kolbet

Posted by in Writing
“Deep Fried,” A Short Story by Matt Kolbet

“Candy bars?  “Of course. Snickers mainly. That’s what people have heard, so it rings true if they hear it again. Easy enough to envision something held in wires, dropped down in hot oil.”  “Had it.”  Dan eyed the man from Texas and felt a flash of home-grown pride. Travel had brought the two men together and Dan realized everything could be a competition: grilling techniques, the tang of a sauce, the cut of the meat. In other states they touted how high food could grow relative to elephants. Ridiculous, except when it wasn’t. Presently, they discussed state fairs and what could be fried at home. This prompted a lengthy litany and an appreciative silence.  “You ever try Rolos?”  “Haven’t. Gives me an idea though.” Dan pulled out his phone and punched in a string of numbers. “Hey Jed. No, I’m on a business trip. Met up with this other fellow. I want you to…

Continue reading →

March 19, 2020

“The Woman of Kutch,” Poetry by Jonathan Lloyd

Posted by in Writing
“The Woman of Kutch,” Poetry by Jonathan Lloyd

The Woman of Kutch    The woman of Kutch,  Living in grasslands  Favored by raj  And ibis, flees   The earthquake and  Monsoon that leveled  The Gujarat  Three or four   Thousand years ago.    For this occasion  She wears a dress  Embroidered in red  And yellow cotton  An aba covers  The sakral which  Begins the stem   Of a sunflower rising   To a shower   Of light, all in  Mirrors, surrounded   By grassy fields.    She carries three  Steel pots of water  On her head and   With her left arm  She caresses another.  With her right arm   She shields her eyes   Against the sun,  Into which she races.    ** At  the Track  She crosses her legs, this girl of twelve, her hat  A crown, brim bouncing in a breeze. She reads  Her book, maybe–maybe not–lost in thought  Or reverie, a boy…

Continue reading →

March 17, 2020

“To and Fro,” by Hayden Moore

Posted by in Writing
“To and Fro,” by Hayden Moore

Harmony is the strength of binding opposites: Heraclitus She knew the way, but the liquid path never failed to frighten her. Her arms were sure as she paddled from one to side to the other, left to right, to and fro until she convinced herself the fear was nothing more but adolescent excitement. In those rare moments of calm, something stirred within her chest as one arm gave way to the stroke of another, a harmonic song issuing forth from her sternum in a moment’s moment. But the song was too brief to name and the moment too fleeting to overtake the peril. Not a cloud in the sky. The girl swore she could see the curvature of the earth from her humble placement as she paddled across the shallow sea. When she dared to…

Continue reading →

March 15, 2020

“The Boggart” and other Poems by Julia Franklin

Posted by in Writing
“The Boggart” and other Poems by Julia Franklin

The Boggart   There used to be this boggart in our house. Not a big thing, really; actually quite small.   Of course, we didn’t used to see her that way; There was a time when we were the ones that were small.   She had a row of teeth for every bit of flesh we bore. She’d bring them out, all neat and sharp and small.   One day we stared her down and brought our own teeth out, And the growl that stirred in her throat was small.   The night passed without incident. When the sun rose, We found footprints out the door. We thought, “Now who’s small?”   I heard she found another house to haunt, Its occupants each Bambi-eyed and small. **   The Truckers   It’s a world that…

Continue reading →