Black bulbs the size of pin heads germinate below the translucent layer of skin. Like clockwork, they grow thick, sharp sprouts reaching toward the sun. This coarse overgrowth reminds me how long it’s been since I’ve wielded a razor. No skirt today. Covering the legs is easy. But out in the open, my face conceals nothing. If you stand far enough away–or don’t have your glasses on–my eyebrows resemble an elegant arch. Up close, you see the stragglers, hellbent little strands challenging the formation. Examine my mug for 30 seconds and you’ll find (in addition to the unsightly hairs) age spots, wrinkles, dry patches, melasma, scars. Trousers can’t disguise my face.
My failures also stack high. Issues pile up. The New Yorker. Nearly every flat surface in my home is a vertical calendar with months and weeks of other people’s writing to read. Maggotbrain. Alta. Piled up. The Sewanee Review. Piled on the coffee table. Outdoor. Piled next to the toilet. Vanity Fair.McSweeney’s Quarterly’s 58. The gangs all there. They are either towering mountain on the right half of my desk or they’re cozying up to the books beside my bed. Like too close talkers, the editions encroach on the Mary Gaitskill’s, Stephen King’s, Mary Karr’s, Chuck Palahniuk’s, Carl Jung’s, Zadie Smith’s, and a Dorothy Parker or a Harry Crews–who are patiently waiting for me too. On Saturday, the piling up breaks me down. I’m crying.
“A clean house is the sign of a poorly lived life.” Or so goes the cliché. In Shirly, the biodrama about Shirley Jackson, she tells Stanley Edgar Hyman, “a well-kept home is evidence of mental incompetence.” In my apartment, clean dishes overwhelm the metal drying rack. The dirty ones sprawl out like sunbathers in the ceramic sink beach. Laundry accumulates in two hampers. Broken down cardboard slumps in the corner, taunting, “You never take me outside on time!” The compost bin’s top looks like a funny hat set atop an unruly hairdo of kale stems. The shoots, stalks, and skins prevent the lid from fitting right and instead it’s like a floating beret.
Jackson might compliment my mental competencies. Still others might envy my well-lived life. From where I sit, I see my failures everywhere.
Bitch you say? You gon’ learn today. When you say bitch make sure to add that extra adjective.
Beautiful bitch
Intelligent bitch
Tenacious bitch
Champion bitch
Harding working bitch
Brilliant bitch
Innovative bitch
Talented bitch
Courageous bitch
Helpful bitch
Hold on I got some more bitch
Bold bitch
invincible bitch
thoughtful bitch
Chic bitch
Honest bitch.
Behold incredible thighs curves and hips bitch
Brave bitch
Irresistible bitch
Trustworthy bitch, be sure to hold on to that bitch
Caring bitch
Humble bitch
It’s about to get bitchier in this bitch.
Boss bitch
independent bitch
Triumphant bitch
Clever bitch
Headstrong bitch, that bitch is a mighty force to reckon with
Let’s not forget warrior bitch. I am the shit bitch
Wise bitch
Strong bitch, shaking off bitch nigga bullshit.
Oh yasss bitch!
Breathtaking bitch
Inspiring bitch
Thoughtful bitch
Cute bitch
Heroic bitch, duntdadun bitch that muthafucking cape slay
Bad bitch
Iconical bitch
Terrific bitch, hands down the best bitch, head bitch in charge
Charming bitch
Honorable bitch
Dependable bitch is representing too
Ain’t no downfall with a down bitch
Real bitch cheers to you
You sassy bitch, amazing bitch
Pretty bitch shout out to you
Roll out the red carpet for the best, the baddest bitch of them all.
Her majesty sitting upon her throne with her head held high.
Take notes and bow your heads for her royal highness
QUEEN BITCH!
Yasss bitch, yasss bitch, yasss!
No I won’t go away
I will cross your mind every day.
Even when you’re mad you can’t push me to the dark corners and shadows like I never existed.
I will dance in your daydreams my smile on replay.
You tried it though staring at your phone wondering if you should call me.
Will you deal with rejection finding out you may be blocked, the length of time we’ve been apart, I may have found someone else.
Driving yourself crazy.
You can’t forget me.
I curled up inside the dark places filling them with light.
I made the chaos uncomfortable.
I won’t go away.
I will flow with you as you move about, in a brief moment you may rest your eyes and you will imagine me sitting by your side with my hands rubbing your head you release that content sigh.
All is right in the world until you open your eyes and realize it was a memory, of me and you in unison entwined in each other’s arms embracing the whole of the galaxy.
For when we entwine we can hold our faith in our arms.
when we entwine we create a divine intervention that alters both our realities.
Our destiny soft spoken as we whisper to each other promises of a great future.
I will set your body on fire when you think of my touch igniting the flames of passion within you.
A powerful blaze that can only be extinguished with the healing waters of my devine energy, cascading down your throat chakra.
Cooling your heart chakra.
Charging your solar plexus.
Filling your sacral chakra with blissful nectar.
Providing you with longevity, giving your root chakra the heavenly release it deserves.
In the silent moments, I will glide through your heart.
Increasing your blood circulation.
Blowing more oxygen in your lungs.
I won’t go away.
You will smell my scent on your t-shirts, accusing yourself of tripping because the shirts have been washed more than once.
I will tip toe across your chest when you lay down for bed at night.
Getting things in order for what will be our final anthology before Dumpster Fire Press officially shuts down in February 2023…not that we won’t be back but for a plethora of reasons a one year sabbitical at the very least is needed…
Earlier this year we hit you with BEDROOM ANATOMY LESSONS focusing on a wide array of romantic and erotic experiences touching on the pure and toxic.
Then came along WORLD ON FIRE: PROPAGANDIE…pandemics, war, the erosion of civilization, and all sorts of apocalyptic variable fueled by you guessed it…political propaganda.
Now in the traditon of our third and final anthology akin to last year’s CHILDHOOD’S END which encompassed two themes…TWILIGHT OF THE SUPERHUMANS and WAITING FOR LUCY…we present GODS, GUNS, GLORY & GREED
art by Dillinger
What brought that world on fire fueled by propagandie that teaches us bedroom anatomy lessons?
First off, I’ve always been a fan of comics and the foundations of pulp fiction which birthed them…an American invention and what is the most American genre that shined thorughout pulp and even cinema…the western!
art by Dillinger
Good old fashioned western pulpiness of rugged individualism full of greed, guns, glory with a touch of god via Amerikan Biblicism. The first half of the anthology will feature poetry, art and stories in homage to that bloody fisted and bullet drenched genre illuminating a whole slew of things. Organized like a silver age comic almost with satiric ads here and there as well.
Country western stuff with some cityfuck twist, I don’t know…if this press actually knew what it was doing would the logo really be a flaming dumpster? Hell let’s make it a cheeky homage to pulp and consider the Lizard King and his almost famous catch phrase “When the Music’s over”…possibly directed by Sergio Leone and starring John Wayne.
Now onto final half which gets to the cornerstone of most this shit derailing a progressive evolution…religion!
art by Dillinger
Cults, religion…what a way to control humanity. Going backward as we thrust into the future, have our beliefs really changed all that much. World on fire amid the inflictions of bedroom anatomy lessons…do you like Jung? What do you know about totems? WE ARE CULT! IT’S A CULT THEME! How about just doing something wickled, violent and depraved or even hopeful and redeeming in a primal idenity most complimentary or a dreamscape nightmare vision. Pick any side of the ever varying spectrum in the modern animal kingdom both hidden and blatant.
of course there’s poems, stories and art dealing wtih cult antics and mysticism but we alslo look at political animals via various covers of Time Magazine provided by DFP heavy hitter Paul Warren and various totem-esque tribes…did I mention the EIC of DFP will also be attempting to weave a frenetic unifying religious text around these words and images?
Shit is getting real and hard boiled as we head into the sixth extinction and head toward the twilight of DFP’s second phase.
DEADLINE OCTOBER 1st.
Head to the submissions page for guidelines and such.
Dumpster Fire Press 