Fall 2009
from the editor
I’ve had a great time being part of putting this, the first issue since 2006, together with my cohort Nate Tyree. My thanks to P. H. Madore for asking me to be a part of this project and to Devan Sagliani for lighting the fire back when; it’s been a party in my panties where the cops are called and there are naked people and dancing and some light drug use.
I hope you enjoy these dirty little gems as much as I’ve enjoyed mining them for you. Thanks to everyone who submitted and to the authors whose work appears in this quarter’s issue. You are the worm in my mezcal!
Yours,
Taylor Durden
credit: Ryan Long
Richard’s Grave by Adrian Stone
Instead, I smoke my cigarette, hoping that he will drop the subject. Richard was more than food for bottom-feeding bugs. He deserves a proper burial.
Halfway by Mel Bosworth
She rolled her eyes, got out of bed. She pulled off the dress shirt and threw it at me. She paced naked, fingers twisting and pulling the thick rings that hung on her nipples.
It Will All Burn by Matt DeBenedictis
I began to flip through his book. The pages were firm and not easy to turn, as if the pages had been cut from a rock and designed to fight back.
The Frame Maker by Nate Innomi
I toyed with the blade, holding it behind my neck, but quickly decided to save the integrity of the work rather than myself. My head and blank arm would have to protrude from the work. They were not worthy.
Cleaning Lady by Gregg Williard
“The California paint comes in no-fault flamingo and rose.”
Beauty by Kenneth Radu
Ah, the sensuous texture of his skin, like hard silk impervious to the abuse of football. Conceivably out of pique Rachel had spoken to the Dean who in turn requested a meeting? She had been careful to give the girl high marks, and the boys were all over eighteen, well, except for one, maybe two, but no one knew about them, she didn’t think.
A Death in the Life by Jim Parks
That great equalizer, that pulse in the right arm of the world, that gleam in the eye of the beholder, that bright, sharp and white hot pain shooting from nerve ending to nerve ending across endless synapses facilitated through the unknown chemistry of the chemistry of the chemistry of the chemistry of the mind, the nerve, the muscle and grit and bone and sinew of that which is only experienced, never fully understood, moment to moment to moment.
A Field Guide for
Nocturnal Vehicular Deer Hunting
by Roxane Gay
by Roxane Gay
Try your cell phone again. Point your phone toward the moon at different angles and in different directions. Play a quick game of Solitaire.
Gossamer by Ben Spivey
I tried not to think about my wife, my ex, recent, fresh, dark-cloud over head, the memory was heavy: but the girl, young woman, she looked so much like her. Her smile, for the moment, stitched me. She unzipped my pants and pulled my penis through. My organ filled rapidly, nervously, anxiously.
Moaning by Mark Richardson
A few more muffled moans from the Asian chick and then she goes quiet. Maybe she’s finally worn-out? Christ. I check the cell. No reply from the Mexican, so I speed-dial Jill.
Door by Michael J. Martin
Why? Your first whimper, your first real whimper, thinking back on it in correlation to all other whimpers read from the dossier of the living world, the others still don’t seem pained and wanting.
Ground by David Erlewine
Later that night, as I was flossing, she snuck up and stuck her head in my boxers, licking my unshowered asshole.
Like No One’s Watching by Ethel Rohan
At least I believed I didn’t care if I never made love again until I dreamt the other night about having panting, thrashing, sticky, wet sex with the dad of one of our son’s classmates.
A Death of Something by Margaret Christi
From atop a tower we watched her, her hips still cutting, her ankles tied. Her words had tossed us where we watched her, her backside gathering bruises.
The Last Date by Teresa Houle
“I’m going to eat your face with my pussy,” she said, hovering above his gawking face, open legs exposed.
The Wall (on Which She Hangs) by Will Spires
I visited her frequently. Usually at night, so we could be alone. The other women on the walls did not distract me. She was the one I came for.
Angry Anus by Black Conrad
“Yeah, I just was feeling like giving it another go,” I said. “There’s got to be a way to lose at the game. Nobody can play and be a winner all the time.”