Uncategorized05 Jul 2010 08:44 am
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Uncategorized17 Oct 2009 07:07 am
Sorry about the downtime, folks. I upgraded the mySQL server and something happened. Glad to be back and working on the Fall issue.
Uncategorized20 Jun 2009 01:12 pm
Expect an issue in our new quarterly format next week… fiction, reviews, poetry, and hopefully some etc.
Uncategorized01 Apr 2009 05:51 am
Layoffs at work have increased my job responsibilities — the weekly publishing schedule will need to adjust.
Uncategorized09 Mar 2009 04:34 am
Changeling, by Virginia M. Mohlere
There is no one left
to remember
that boiling water in eggshells
will catch me out.
I remain:
the homely child,
hair-puller,
torturer of cats,
bereft of any power
save lack of conscience.
Even cold iron
has given way
to silicon and plastic.
What kills me by increments
is not your black metal
or mummy-dry churches:
it’s the boredom
of seasons passing unnoticed
while I hump my ass
over a keyboard
to pay the rent.
I had centuries of joy
under sidhe hills
before my exile.
Human tedium
is the slowest strangle.
But you know all about that.
Uncategorized26 Feb 2009 08:13 pm
Very Truly Yours, Part 4 (conclusion) by Seth Gordon
Rachael gave me permission to take Unfay to a movie on Saturday, so I took her to Unadam’s Revenge.
Unadam, the bald slave in the poster, belonged to a scientist in a government laboratory who was looking for drugs to make slaves smarter. Unadam took one of the test drugs, stopped obeying the scientist, and killed him. Then Unadam stole a jar of the drug and used it on all the other slaves in the laboratory, and they killed the other scientists.
The laboratory slaves rounded up the janitors, secretaries, lab technicians security guards, and other masters on the staff, and locked them in a conference room. One of the janitors asked Unadam, “What will you do with us?”
Uncategorized09 Feb 2009 07:43 pm
Very Truly Yours, part 3, by Seth Gordon
In the first few months after Dad married Rachel, Fay got along with her by avoiding her. Rachel spent most of her time with Dad and the slaves, and let Unharry keep taking care of us. In private conversations with me, Fay would never refer to our stepmother by name — she usually called her “The Bimbo.” When I told her she was being unfair, she sulked until I gave up arguing with her.
Rachel was applying to the art schools in the area — she was over thirty, but she’d been so busy taking care of her mother that she hadn’t gone to college. (Fay considered this another reason to look down on her.) She showed me her portfolio, photography of women in fancy clothes, and said it was OK if I wasn’t impressed, I wasn’t old enough to understand these things.