Barista Jason Brick’s New Book About Family Safety We are constantly reminding others to stay safe, but it took our own Jason Brick to put some weight behind the idea with his work and his new book, Safest Family on the Block: 101 Tips, Tricks, Habits, and Hacks to Protect Your Family at Home, at School, and in the World. Just published, it’s already a #1 best seller on Amazon, and for good reason. We’re starting Memorial Day weekend which is perennially a three-day accident waiting to happen. We cannot be too careful on bikes, in cars, swimming, barbequeing – anything, really. In this book, author Jason distills his knowledge into important, simple tips any parent can use to protect their loved ones at home, at school, at work, and abroad . . . all…
SPECULARIS: A New Art Exhibition in Boston
Steve Sangapore, a Boston artist and formerly Fine Arts Barista at The Fictional Cafe, is one of the most innovative creators it’s our privilege to know. He paints, sculpts, writes philosophy and hosts fascinating exhibits. In all his creative pursuits he’s always welcome at The Fictional Cafe. This week, Steve and fellow artist Rob Sullivan open a new art exhibit at Boston’s Fountain Street Gallery. This ambitious show of painting and sculpture brings to life its title, a Latin term that directly translates to “you watch” or “you look.” The work invites viewers in with its combination of traditional and modern practices and, echoing the contemporary specular, involves aspects of lenses and mirrors. Whether communicating transparency, the beauty of form or human spirituality, it is as if the artist is portraying images through a lens….
Our National Poetry Month Finale: Vera West
Please welcome Vera West, The Fictional Cafe’s Poet in Residence, who shares her thoughts about our National Poetry Month celebration: chickadee I’m not always angry but I am mostly melancholy, thinking about those little potholes of memories riddling a twisting road of disappointment; these memories jar me: pancakes, carnivals, front yard barbecues, black fridays and pastel pink egg hunts, nicknames no one else called me; these memories always jarred me, they’re so different than the standard of both back then and now. ** thinking of you Things you did right: encourage me to be authentic, drive me around town, instill independence, and push high expectations. [I want to be somewhere in the middle, between the good and the bad, between emotion and logic, but I’m stuck in extremes. either I miss you terribly or hate you…
Week Four: Eric Forsbergh, Susan Simonds, and Eric Goodman
Two Erics? How did that happen? Is it a coincidence or kismet? Let’ give ’em both a read before we decide. Here’s our first, Eric Forsbergh. The Love Poetry of Eric Forsbergh My Lucky Jacket My lucky jacket drapes me pleasingly: a cross between the wings of victory and an asbestos fire suit. A cloth talisman, it buffs my confidence to polished brass. After all, I wore it during our initial kiss. It’s my fabric shield the eyes of trolls roll off. On my motorcycle, in the rain, I swear this jacket wards me from a lightning strike. You’re my loving skeptic. You claim it’s not a coffin or a cure. You claim what counts will rise within my skin. My lucky jacket? Some days it’s like a rescue blanket made of foil: shiny and…
“The Great Adverb War” by Russ Lopez
Time out from our celebration of National Poetry Month for a fun, witty short story about the nemesis of all writers: the adverb. Or is it? The Merriam-Webster Dictionary states, “Adverbs are words that usually modify—that is, they limit or restrict the meaning of—verbs. They may also modify adjectives, other adverbs, phrases, or even entire sentences. Got it? Read on. The Great Adverb War A Short Story by Russ Lopez To nearly everyone’s surprise, the most contentious divide among Provincetown’s writers was not fiction vs. nonfiction, prose or poetry, or even the need for an Oxford comma, though Benji Camarillo’s husband had famously threatened to file for divorce over his refusal to use one after the penultimate noun in a series. No. The large, historic writing community in town violently splintered over adverbs. The war…
Week Three: John Kucera PLAGIARIST, Jaya Abraham, Gopal Lahiri
Three works attributed to John Kucera have been removed from our site because they were plagiarized from other poets and writers. We most sincerely apologize to those writers whose rights have been violated by the individual named John Kucera and condemn him for his plagiarism and lack of respect for the creative efforts of other people. Fictional Cafe will never tolerate plagiarism and will take down those who commit it. We invite those who have been wronged to submit work to Fictional Cafe, where you will be treated with all the respect we can muster. From Abu Dhabai, perhaps the most beautiful city on earth, please welcome Jaya Abraham and five of her poems. KENOPSIA* There is nothing between The moon and me, My gloomy crescent Clings to the skies tonight, Adamant, like the red…
Jeff Corwin: Trust in Vision
Over the years, Jeff Corwin has taken photos out of a helicopter, in jungles, on oil rigs and an aircraft carrier. Assignments included portraits of famous faces, including Bill Gates and Groucho Marx and photos for well-known corporate clients like Microsoft, Apple, Rolls-Royce and Time/Life. After 40+ years as a commercial photographer, Corwin has turned his discerning eye to fine art photography. Corwin has carried his vision forward, to see past the clutter and create photographs grounded in design. Simplicity, graphic forms and configurations that repeat are what personally resonate. Visual triggers are stark and isolated vistas: a black asphalt road cutting for miles through harvested wheat; an empty, snowy field with a stream creating a curve to a single tree; or a small barn, the roof barely visible above a barren hillside. Trusting his…
Week Two: AJ Huffman, Morouje Sherif, Charles Remmelkamp
We’re so delighted to welcome A. J. Huffman and her poetry to Fictional Cafe. A.J. is a poet and freelance writer in Daytona Beach, Florida. She has published 27 collections and chapbooks of poetry. In addition, she has published her work in numerous national and international literary journals. She is currently the editor for Kind of a Hurricane Press literary journals. Two Boards Don’t Always Equal An X I wear his depression for hours. Like a crown of duller thorns, it does not bleed me. But breeds a bizarre dissension. I understand the gray it is shading. Around my edges it appears. Colder than his. He shudders. Mistaking the chill for lore. It is not your soul leaving your body. I sigh. (It is my soul trying to breathe.) You worry I am not strong/safe/alive enough to hold you. You are wrong (Such…
“Popet,” A Short Story by Pierre Boodhoo
Where is the line drawn between fantasy and reality? Between what we see and what we imagine? Read on as Pierre Boodhoo, in his first story for The Fictional Café, takes us on this exploration. Popet “Ayesha, my popet, the eve is upon us. It is time to awaken.” Mother’s voice sparks the fire. The embodiment of Mother’s love spreads within her as limbs come alive. After a few blinks, the blurriness fades. The pale, sharp features of Mother’s face hide between strands of green and black hair as she comes into focus. Mother captivates her. “Mother!” Ayesha throws her arms around Mother’s waist. Herhand pats Ayesha’s head and she beams. Ayesha releases Mother and waits patiently. Mother straightens her clothes and dusts herself off. Ayesha imagines herself in a mature body resembling Mother. If…
Week One: Bob Pope, Eva Grace, Sal Difalco
Bob Pope returns to FC with a provocative poem Samantha Quince Devastated by Death of Biological Mother The fingertips of one of the older woman’s hands land lightly on her breast like a mosquito. Excuse me? she says. You are my biological mother, Samantha Quince says. Ah, I see, she says, a film crew. Mother said to come when I can drive myself. How nice you got your license. That’s my adoptive mother’s car. It looks so easy to handle. I wanted, no needed to see you. I have lemonade. Do you like tea? I was inside you. I came like a moon out the side of a planet. …this woman this stranger my mother, so familiar and weirdly unfamiliar at the same time staring like she doesn’t know me… Wait, what’s this? Taken in…