The final volume? Nah…

It’s been a hell of the last two years here at Dumpste Fire Press…

We’ve published over 65 books, including 12 volumes of VOICES FROM THE FIRE of which you have the final volume from the first phase of DFP UNBOUND…

So what’s next for DFP?

That’s a good question…while I’ve been the solo editor for the last two years wanting to slit my wrists and laying most the artwork in the anthologies as my art director for some reason doesn’t have the proper tech…there’s going to be a few changes.

Additional editors such as a poetry editor and an associate editor. Announcements will sporadically come through as I gradually tweak the site to reflect that.

We’re still still sticking with several thematic anthologies a year. VOICES FROM THE FIRE will return. There will be more of an offering of pulp titles and graphic novels down the line.

OUR OFFICIAL TAGLINE IS TRIGGER & IMPLODE…we are a counter culture movement.

Hoping to expand locally with nomadic pop-up open MICs on a monthly or even weekly basis called TRIGGER & IMPLODE along with maybe some other media ventures but enough of that…

I have a novel to co-write along with a collaborative poetry collection with LADY CHAOS PUBLISHING a joint venture with DFP.

But most importantly if it wasn’t for our contributors and audiences there wouldn’t be this flaming pile of wasteland accomplishment (can we actually call it that?). From the poets, writers, artists and readers…YOU ARE ALL DUMPSTER FIRE PRESS!

It’s been surreal…

AlSO THIS IS A SPECIAL VOLUME OF VOICES not only paving the way for PHASE 2 in the evolution of Dumpster Fire Press but featuring some of our more prolific contributors…

Stephen Whitter one of the most charming and personable writer’s I’ve met who really doesn’t give a fuck about awards and writes whatever the hell he wanted profound philosophical pieces in an understated manner.

A genuinely unique voice…

I salute you sir and  allthat you you’ve contributed to Dumpster Fire Press.


I don’t sleep much these days, because I can’t do things because
of my health that makes tired,
Well fatigue, yes but that’s not the same as an endorphin flooded
runner’s high which only ten years ago I used to enjoy.
No fatigue makes you feel like how a fractious over tired toddler I imagine feels and then if you came across a fractious toddler, you could easily twist off it’s ear ears.
And so I go to bed drugged right up , Diazepam or if you’re British and my age Valium.
You remember the old Scaffold song we’ll drink we’ll drink to Lily the Pink the savior of the human race, for they invented ‘medicinal compounds’ most efficacious in everyway “.
Well you might not remember the song but look it up, wastes ten minutes.
So Benzodiazepines, wonder drugs, yes I’d agree with that if they weren’t horribly addictive and almost impossible to come off, now the even more hilarious part is when I was treated for Alcoholism I was prescribed Librium a Benzodiazepine ,’yes what you need to get you off Alcohol is a highly addictive drug’.
And when I went on in my career up the addiction ladder and down the life drain I came off Heroin after the many happy years we had together .
But I shouldn’t have worried because I was put on Methadone, stops you getting ‘sick’ and of course Valium , so ” Yes what you need son to get you off an addictive drug like ‘The old Brown’ or Diamorphine  or to be blunt Heroin, Smack, Skag, Gear,  is two  even more highly addictive drugs “
Sounds crazy, but trust me…..
So, now I’m approaching sixty years old and to put it mildly I’m pretty fucked up .
Valium and all its benzodiazepine mates must be long gone, surely ?
I mean you wouldn’t be able to get away with legally selling a highly damaging drug would you?
No, course not.
So what yo do is change it’s name, yeah that’s all there is to it ,no this isn’t Valium that highly addictive drug that has fucked up countless lives, no this is Diazepam and we have got rid of all the others too, Mogadon, that awful sleeping pill is now Temazepam, Ativan, is now Lorazepam.
Trouble is that every Benzodiazepine they have called …..Pam  something ending in Pam.
So, no more middle of the night calls from ‘associates’ in Pharmacies,  (must be those 24hr jobs I’m guessing) saying
‘I’ve lost me list, Mogadon worth having’?
If it ends in Pam pinch it ffs.
Yes, it’s been a funny old life, I remember being fifteen years old and spending all day trying to score a grotty bit of Moroccan Hash, now you get bombarded by the stuff even get prescription weed.
But one man’s needs vary as much as weeds grow one is now ok, one still class A.     

       Shane Allison…a writer and an artist. Visions and voices. An unstoppable force that I hope never gives up his craft. An unflinching eye searing your optic nerves for the bizarre truth one shelters themselves from in a world not fully done away but buckling under the pressure of non-being…love this man.

Poetically speaking…Michael Lee Johnson is the craft at its finest.

December Holidays

December 24th

 I find footprints

 in this snow,

yours frozen,

with our

broken dreams.

Same with James Maj…words dull the statement of his work. Much love to this man for not only his selfless contributions but deeply caring words of wisdom dispensed whether sought or not.

Nor can we forget our fearless art director Punky Dillinger who kept my head on screwed straight when I needed and arted like never before…don’t worry this marvelous team-up won’t be letting up…as always we’ve got things in the works




I know. You are in there. In the Q-zone.

Your life wasn’t a gift.

Something went wrong and you failed.

You didn’t have to be successful.

But right now you have a second chance. Don’t be afraid my friend. I am your inner demon. We will make you a ruthless bastard as much as they want.

We will feed you stinky breast milk and old-fashioned daddy’s semen. You will be reborn.

You will be a good citizen, a good son a good husband. You will steal politely. You will rape silently. Your smile will shine until your die.

Everyone will love you and you will destroy them slowly.

 And one day you will be yourself.

 I promise that day, I will leave you.

I don’t need your soul. I just want you to be happy.

 Please accept my offer.

Sign it


Bored With Nihilism

I’m bored with nihilism. 

I push colossal 

boulders and

smile on occasion.

I see Camus’s

face in the stone.

The meaninglessness of

it all cleanses the

detritus of my

question-mark soul.

Now there is nothing.

I couldn’t be happier.

The Nightmares Of Clocks

My nightmares are

perpetual as the clocks

within, revolving backwards.

The floors of our

home were

always rotted and

I cannot stop falling.

You’re sick, crying to

me for help when

my hands are

tied to Molotov’s.

I collapse into

the mold on

the ceiling.

It will

never make sense.

I’m Trying My Best

In trying my

best to be happy.

No more

wishes will be

tossed to the

apathetic moon; instead,

I raise a

fist to the

despotic sun.

I dismantle my

mental oppression with

my own

breath and voice.

My screams will

turn this

town into tears.

I don’t care if the

buildings wither.

I’ll rebuild in the

name of joy.


I fight for

everything to

be okay.

My fists are

caked in trauma.

I lick it off.

It tastes of raspberry

pie and shame.

My fingers spread to

pull down the

storm and replace

it with streetlights.

I see the path on

which I crawled lead

back to antiquity.

One day I’ll

carve my own

road through

the gravestones.

The Dirty Streets Of America

Our streets are

stained from the

lies of politicians.

We wash them

with shit.

The revolution is a

heart beating

love and anger.

We cannot do

nothing much longer.

They strip us nude and

cut us with

the constitution.

With broken

skin, we

choke their

fascist god and

replace it with

one whom has empathy.

We worship by

revolting and

reaching out our

iron hands.

VOICES FROM THE FIRE: Chad Christopher Dixon



Nothing is as before.

 Since that fateful day people have gone crazy. I’m not saying it became, but it has become, which means that those events continue to affect our present.

I have received one last mission, to cross the portal and spread the temporary powder.

But how?.

Before continuing with this story I must tell you who I am. i They just call me Zombie.

They say that due to that polluted air the dead left the tombs and the living flesh entered, seeking shelter. The vampires, yeah, I have a vampireskan rib, since they no longer had necks to tear out living beings began to engage in sadomasochistic carnal relations with the dead, and in one of those I was born. They say that this hybridity could be a divine sign and who knows how to take advantage of blood types could lead to the creation of the vaccine and the terraplanation-reedenization of our lovely planet.

 They say, according to the legends, that my father, Count BAITAL comes from the past and that my mother, Lilith, from the future and by chance accidentally met in this parallel world.

 Parallel world? What do you say?

Yes, no one knows indeed in what world we live. As if this were not enough, Human Carnage, YES, NO LONGER EXISTS THAT NORMAL HUMANITY, also has relations not only with virtual dolls but also with COVERED, people who hide their true wishes and faces behind a three-dimensional chip and wears a mask virtual condom that serves as a wall of protection against diseases.

They say that having these relationships can serve to better heal from contamination virulent left by THAT DISEASE.

But back to the present, I’m being chased by a pharmaceutical corrupt who wants to do scientific experiments with me but ,I won’t let him.

Only Count Frankie, a friend of my parents, can analyze me bodily. So after a lot of mathematical, quantum, temporal, with eceddy chain and backscatter equations I found that it was a divine creature, something like a messiah and that I was destined to save Humanity.

My blood was special and if well synthesized would heal all. To do this I had to cross this portal.

But how to do it?

 I had to divide my body into several parts and gather back here when everything was perfect.

Well I’m going to start cutting my veins, behead myself. Extract teeth. And with a petroleum cocktail I will spit my essence in the time flow. This gasoline is made from skulls and mortal remains of the cannibals opposed to the revolution and new world order….


Cindy Poems

Lighting fickles and cool downpours of silken whereabouts 

sliding doors to countless encounters of flesh pounded into love

wet degraded unearth triangular flies 

and hopped-up bunnies looking for ragweed time capsules

Where is fairyland  ?

Sodden nightmares that quake with resistance unilateral timekeepers await further instructions helium balloons full of piss and cum

Await further instructions give you over to bastards who dream of red marching ants and tampon queens all sucking off the tit of wasteland

Curious I tell ya

Though projections ramping silver bricks of hope descending into spikes of sheltered realm-eaters of the rainbows riders of the red caterpillar walking on his hands

Can you hear the music 

It forever plays for those who juggle stars and lick the underside crust of the moon

 they have bent up stars in their eyes sailboats in their brain pan

look for the slip in door and count bottle caps full of serotonin 

escaping to that faraway crater to be reborn into dust and glasses 

no escape the tomb has written you far into time

Where the green beetle waddles on a thin line of saliva riding the cosmic interlude

 catch love if you can



Kinder Times

The Angels are reflected in the water.
Dirty faces with sad eyes.
Their wings are broken.
Their hair matted.
When they are close you can smell their decay.
Try not to look into the water, it will only remind you of kinder times.


Yesterday’s Prose

It was only   yesterday

Voices were heard, stories were told

Family, friends to hug as well as hold

All came to a stand still

The day corona virus decided to intermingle

Single handily the globe, left out into the cold

Today this land is no longer our land

Together we stand

To free ourselves from this contaminant we call Covid 19

The land before time when freely we shared our joys,

in addition, sorrows

Longing once again for   brighter tomorrows

Life in the time of the Coronavirus…From Oasis to Chaos 

Our countries, villages, cities have become deserted

As if death came upon us all around

The world remains indoors, fear to step out

The flowers have not fully bloomed

We are torn between visiting, how many included, excluded

Do we go, do we not?

What is one to do?

Job shortages and lost mortgages

Decisions, few.

The weather is lovely. The sun has risen whilst we remain indoors.

Guarded, on the look out

Understanding the preconceived notion of our faceless enemy

Scattered evidence


Fragment by fragment the pieces began to take shape

Quarantined in fear within our own space

Covid 19

To our friendly neighbors we wave from afar

“How are you doing”


Small talk

As we walk

Continuing on our new normalcy

At heart, we all have suspicious minds

Caught in

The trap of the Coronavirus 

Unveiling   despondency, comparable to a train derailment

Positivity alongside empathy and goodness will once again prevail

The flowers will once again bloom

People will simile more 

Awareness will be more profound, listen more 

Gatherings and festivities will once again be bigger 

 Life will be seen in A new light

 Dreams will become goals

More understanding, less misjudgments

One will once again recite 

One will once again play music 

One will once again dance, read, 

one will once again vacation 

Awaiting a solution resolution   in our era of evolution

This is my prayer for our center of the earth

A new rebirth

Social Distancing

What happened to the scintilla which lit our heavens and center of the earth into the night.?

It disappeared, not so long ago

What was a bed of roses?

Has been filled   with invisible thorns

A new visitor has taken its place

Some call it corona virus, others Covid 19

Distancing from crowds, persons three feet or more.

Prior to self – confinement shopping was an outing, perhaps also a chore

Hesitating hour by hour a trip to the grocery sore

In the midst of   segregating, separating

Our surroundings and beyond

Anticipating a positive transformation in this duality of life

Creating love, gentleness   and inspiration

Against the shrouded forces of brutality and cruelty
Social distancing has become the norm

Part of our standard of living in progress

Happening before our very eyes

We have   seen fears and cries

From our own vicinity or miles away

We have seen pictures media coverage, newspaper articles

Covid 19, a   viral particle which has taken mankind’s fate away

Once an enigma, nowadays a malignant signal for all men and women

Do you concur?

Some take all in stride

Others fight the strife

Which has become our novice life

While some need to bid farewell

To their loved ones   a last goodbye

There is consolation among one another

Unexpectedly, within strangers

Allies living across the globe

With trepidation.

We as a village will carry on with more of an understanding and gratitude

Improving ourselves

Thriving, surviving feeling alive, not only existing

With apprehensiveness we wish upon that very bright empyrean,


Our astral star, chance.

Identical, interchangeable as a lotus flower

Ancient flower which grows in dirt, muddy waters rising with remarkable beauty.

Untouched by the impurity, lotus symbolizes the purity of heart and mind.

For goodness always triumphs as we once again rise

In the course of time.