Here we are…the fourth and final release for August which was supposed to be the first release had Leah Mueller’s LAND OF ETERNAL THIRST AND OTHER STORIES had not been delayed by the same powers that be which had a technical glitch hindering the release of…
Dumpster Fire Press presents…a war of the worlds type of read with trans-dimensional octopi invading the planet…, well it’s not just that…really it’s just summertime fun in a wonderful homage to B-movie sci-fi with the drive-in feel you may or may not have ever experienced…or it’s tentacled terrors manipulating you to think otherwise or maybe one night Dillinger got drunk shoved a bunch of Octopi into some pics and a certain stoned editor decided to base an anthology off of it…you decide.
Poetry, stories and art abound fueled by carnage inducing cephalopods.
It’s almost the end of the work week…August has been awesome and agonizing at once. It just happens to be H.P. Lovecraft’s birthday and I’ve had a turn around post a brutal stretch of bad luck, so here’s hoping things shift toward the better and the release of this book is quite symbolic of that bringing together of a plethora of talented united in expressing a love of the eerie and the weird.
Which is another thing Dumpster Fire Press is all about. We got poems celebrating B-Movies, stories of tentacled terrors and allegory pertaining to what the monsters outside reveal about the misunderstand creatures inside…so check it out.
The Cephalopods Driving My Ink
As the tires tread the nightly pavement amongst the silvery moon…
This mechanical monster I’m steering is pushing the limit the speed limit easily as I’m cruising with beams of light guiding steadily amongst the guiding lines of Life…
Tentacles of seemingly Monsters before my eyes
I keep poise
Analyze my subconscious
Dreamy pictures painted as I were in physical rest
though I’m awake in total consciousness…
So, those two planes of the brain are surely displaying simultaneously as streaming visuals spawn these literary creations with depth charges of explosive pressures
while knots of nautical speedboats glide across skiffing the hydrogen dioxide in my mind
cerebrospinal fluids balance my daily movements
natural speeds of grandiloquence…
Yet, I’m still befuddled by the sprays of these boneless organisms as they occupy my temporal lobe
stroking my reality as I cruise this asphalt
I’ve dug deep within my memories
to the faults and vaults
crevasses of my cerebrum to uncover this catalyst of this visual affliction
so I’ll just continue down this highway with hopes that this event will dissipate with time…
I’m keeping my drive steady…
MOTHRA AND ME
He lends me his pen
on futuristic canvass.
What dreams may come?
The profits on Hypnocil.
Mad men high on Jung.
It came from Japan.
It came from the ocean.
It came from radiation.
He came in a
Sheets of acid on my tongue.
That’s what I call a
It was just the beginning.
The beckoning of the
worst of times
by the thumbs
of dreamers and titans.
Keep Watching the Skies
At the press conference, held upon Elon Musk’s return from his first trip into space, a journalist asked “Mr. Musk, what did you learn? “
“The future is black.”
“Black?” the reporter said. “Excuse me sir, did you say black?”
“Yes, black. Inky, inky black.” As if to demonstrate the proper color a drowsy dribble of black inky saliva slowly slid from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away with the sleeve of the silvery space suit, before anyone could notice. Later replaying the video conference in super slow mode people noticed.
Fucking Elon Musk.
It is not like we haven’t been warned. Every science-fiction movie and program in the 1950s and 60s had some interior calculus of warning. Hell, some of them outright cautioned, “ Watch the skies everywhere. Keep looking. Keep watching the skies”. Others, after the monsters and invaders were vanquished and the girl won, the end screen of the flick foreshadowed a sequel in bold lettering – THE END?
We neither looked for nor watched nor read, instead we flicked and tweeted and posted so many damn photos of food and of our own damn selves, idiotically looking directly at the camera. In fact, that first post space trip thumbs selfie up Elon Musk posted, under the right filter with the right light, is not a thumbs up at all. It is the beginning of the end of a waving tentacle.
Fucking Elon Musk.
Stick around kids, things are about to get more weirder…we’ve got TWILIGHT OF THE SUPERHUMANS and WAITING FOR LUCY for you to submit until the end of the year, plus maybe a little something called BEDROOM ANATOMY LESSONS FOR 2022.