Thoth to Isis

Thoth to Isis

Isis, you request accountability,

Perhaps deserve an answer;

I’m pure as a virgin’s bedside manner;

Gods who hang with baboons

Need no supervision to

Shape-shift on command,

Conceal desire, then eat like an Ibis.

Isis, Egypt remembers my connections

My contributions; rolling dice,

I won five extra solar days yearly from the moon

Lifted your mother’s curse, provided more

Hours to menstruate in an unfertile universe

Created from dirt inside a bottle-cap; like

Cosmetics, now humans wear each age longer

Oh Isis, you know Ra’s eye

Kept watching me; torn out by Set, I

Restored it, named “the whole one” Wadjet; she

Sent me a Nubian twig and beer can pull-top,

Future remnants of skyscraping pyramids;

Houses exalting material wastelands, ignoring my

Coffin Texts, supernatural spells, renewal

Isis, your birthright sinks like a

Papyrus cradle drifting down the Nile.

It’s always been about personal needs

My magic gave you life, quenched the desert thirst

While your wings breathed life into a corpse

Long enough to seed another Horus; the

Waning moon foretelling our waxing light

Isis, clutch your ankh like a holy relic,

Universe’s forgotten us both;

My scribbles take flight off dusty scrolls

Crumble and fall through fingers true, when

Scales no longer distinguish the ingenuous and unworthy;

Society now devours them both in a world of feathers,

Twittering its way into a commercial afterlife.

—TieDye

E-Val

The darkness. The bitterness. The coldness. He stood alone, he always stood alone. His blade stood upright, forged in the boulder across from him. He never claimed to be a hero, never wanted to be seen as one. His actions were heartless which created a heavy sense of loneliness. His blade, rightly named inJustice, was the only friend he knew. inJustice’s last slaying was that of a thief. The thief apparently was running with a wallet in hand. inJustice effortlessly severed the thief’s throat, allowing blood to gush out. Violence was the only answer; violence solved everything. inJustice made him bitter. Made him resentful. inJustice controlled him, manipulated him, but without inJustice his was nothing. He yearned for inJustice, despite the hatred. The power…it felt invigorating…the power to take lives was addicting. inJustice gave him this power. He craved it, wanted it more and more. inJustice allowed him to escape his emotions, allowed him to be heartless. He was lonely, he was bitter, but he had bloodlust.

He didn’t understand why he was considered a hero. He killed countless people, probably innocent people. Perhaps he was seen as a vigilante, but he knew inside, he was devoured by darkness.

Empty Victories, Heroic Enemies…

Freedom Dollar

What is freedom but the ability to make choices? Between courage and cowardice, duty and love, or even heaven and hell. The nature of the choices we make define us as human beings. Ultimately we choose the world we inhabit. Only 33 yrs yet already sporting wrinkles of someone twice her age Deborah had not the luxury to accentuate the rather attractive woman beneath the dirt and grime. As second in command in the PLA (Peoples liberation army) she carried much responsibility that made her wonder how she got it. It was through she was strong as steel but she wished this war would be over so she could once again be a woman not some G.I Jane freedom fighter. She sometimes wondered what would of happened if she had gone along with the majority, in truth how important was the freedom she was fighting so hard to secure.

Before the rebellion she worked at the World Bank as an administrative assistant to the President. The crash of 2009 followed by the swine flu outbreak left the world in financial ruins. The world’s top economists from the G20 advised that sometimes you must prune undesirable things in order that the entire organism survive, with that the poverty and diseased stricken in the developing world and the developed world were left to die. Deborah had never seen corpses pilled so high, it was as if some one gave the world an enema and the rest was left to smell the stench and clean up the shit. After the population reached an acceptable and manageable number Draconian measures became the norm. Groups that were high risked to disturbed the status quo was dealt with cruelly. Forced sterilizations became frequent food and water were distributed to the population in rations you were only given the necessary. Everyone was forced to wear the same kind of clothes and no matter your profession you were given the same pay.

Still no one sad anything, it was like we became a world of sheep being led willingly to the slaughter. It is true though you can only push people so far before some faction decides enough is enough. In 2050the entire world went cashless the dollar was no longer circulating everything operated by credit. This cause riots in the streets, the strength of the military could not be undone and every riot or protest was quelled by violence and blood. So it was in the land of brave did liberty die? Until Deborah sicken to her stomach funded the alliance with the grates gift she could give a printing press design to spew money in the thousands every hour. The PLA was truly enriched a dollar was more than just a dollar it signified tings about the people’s fight and struggle to achieve great things. It also reminded us that out there in the universe there’s something bigger than man.

The underground mint fueled new hope around the world as rumors of the US rebellion printing money reached hopeful hearts around the world. However the media or the mouthpiece of the government silenced these as propaganda. It became clear people would not rally against the governments if there was no symbol to light there way. So it was that this night in the dark underground the decision was made to have six strong souls run across borders to deliver a one-dollar bill so as to inspire people to fight. Deborah closed her eyes against the guilt at bringing the printing press as she watched her only son gear himself for his path in the mission. “Josh” she said “please cut your ponytail off it’s illegal you know that” he gave her a look as if to say “ I won’t forget so stop fussing”. He was so happy to be chosen by Alexander, Deborah new however why Alexander had chosen Josh. Josh was his illegitimate son and Alexander leader of the rebellion was married a direct descendant Ben Franklin one of the founding father’s .In her veins ran a symbol of American freedom that inspired the rebellion in the states, no other country had such a link as those things that associated with the past were eradicated without prejudice. Deborah as betrayed and fearful for her son’s if as she felt could not risk the rebellion. The horn blew for everyone to assemble. There Alexander addressed the 6 brave men and women who choose to do this. When he was done they exited the underground hideout under the cover of night. Deborah gave her son the most affectionate smile she could. She new at 15 he would not appreciate her hugging him in front of the other’s he already had to deal with the “ He’s so young bit “.

It’s been two months and Josh wasn’t aware that the other five hadn’t even come close to their destinations, they had to travel all the way to Berlin. Each supposedly coming from different entry points in hope that one would get through with their precious cargo. The Germans were the only fraction that had a broad cast radio system, All other fraction could only hear what they were reporting if a dollar bill any off them arrived they could verify it to the worldwide population. Josh arrived in Berlin scared but determined The broadcast said that an agent from the radio would be waiting at the point where the Berlin wall stood every day at 11am until noon to verify. The agent would be identifiable by the one red socks he would be wearing under the standard dress code. Josh sees him across the street and proceeded to head for him the street was crowded with people and soldiers going to and fro, when Josh thought he was almost there the unthinkable happened a man knocked him hard and his hat fell of revealing his long ponytail. Everyone stopped to steer the soldiers yelled “ you there stop your under arrest” Josh could only think of one thing get the dollar to his contact. He started running.

Across the street Hans sees the boy running thinking what this might mean, he starts reporting through a hidden radio in his coat. “I see a boy running he has a long ponytail, the police are chasing him he’s pulling something out of his pocket”. BANG BANG, gunshots silenced the air as people all over ducked. Josh sees the dollar a few inches in front of him his bloody hands reached for it and held it tight. Some where in the distance he hears the words “ They shot him, they just killed him”. As the sound of his heartbeat crawled towards the long dark call of death his hands relinquished its treasure. People were running now; around him, over him as the police proceeded to drag his body away. A little boy shoes appeared in front his empty eyes and the bloody dollar bill stuck to the underside of it. Deborah screamed and her knees buckled, as the agent reported her son’s body being dragged, no dollar bill to be seen.

Later that night Khan’s mother cleaning his shoe saw the bloody dollar bill under his shoe. The words “ In God we trust” shone serenely, not knowing its value and what it stood for; promptly threw it in the fireplace.



What is freedom but the ability to make choices? Between courage and cowardice, duty and love, or even heaven and hell. The nature of the choices we make define us as human beings. Ultimately we choose the world we inhabit. Only 33 yrs yet already sporting wrinkles of someone twice her age Deborah had not the luxury to accentuate the rather attractive woman beneath the dirt and grime. As second in command in the PLA (Peoples liberation army) she carried much responsibility that made her wonder how she got it. It was through she was strong as steel but she wished this war would be over so she could once again be a woman not some G.I Jane freedom fighter. She sometimes wondered what would of happened if she had gone along with the majority, in truth how important was the freedom she was fighting so hard to secure.

Before the rebellion she worked at the World Bank as an administrative assistant to the President. The crash of 2009 followed by the swine flu outbreak left the world in financial ruins. The world’s top economists from the G20 advised that sometimes you must prune undesirable things in order that the entire organism survive, with that the poverty and diseased stricken in the developing world and the developed world were left to die. Deborah had never seen corpses pilled so high, it was as if some one gave the world an enema and the rest was left to smell the stench and clean up the shit. After the population reached an acceptable and manageable number Draconian measures became the norm. Groups that were high risked to disturbed the status quo was dealt with cruelly. Forced sterilizations became frequent food and water were distributed to the population in rations you were only given the necessary. Everyone was forced to wear the same kind of clothes and no matter your profession you were given the same pay.

Still no one sad anything, it was like we became a world of sheep being led willingly to the slaughter. It is true though you can only push people so far before some faction decides enough is enough. In 2050the entire world went cashless the dollar was no longer circulating everything operated by credit. This cause riots in the streets, the strength of the military could not be undone and every riot or protest was quelled by violence and blood. So it was in the land of brave did liberty die? Until Deborah sicken to her stomach funded the alliance with the grates gift she could give a printing press design to spew money in the thousands every hour. The PLA was truly enriched a dollar was more than just a dollar it signified tings about the people’s fight and struggle to achieve great things. It also reminded us that out there in the universe there’s something bigger than man.

The underground mint fueled new hope around the world as rumors of the US rebellion printing money reached hopeful hearts around the world. However the media or the mouthpiece of the government silenced these as propaganda. It became clear people would not rally against the governments if there was no symbol to light there way. So it was that this night in the dark underground the decision was made to have six strong souls run across borders to deliver a one-dollar bill so as to inspire people to fight. Deborah closed her eyes against the guilt at bringing the printing press as she watched her only son gear himself for his path in the mission. “Josh” she said “please cut your ponytail off it’s illegal you know that” he gave her a look as if to say “ I won’t forget so stop fussing”. He was so happy to be chosen by Alexander, Deborah new however why Alexander had chosen Josh. Josh was his illegitimate son and Alexander leader of the rebellion was married a direct descendant Ben Franklin one of the founding father’s .In her veins ran a symbol of American freedom that inspired the rebellion in the states, no other country had such a link as those things that associated with the past were eradicated without prejudice. Deborah as betrayed and fearful for her son’s if as she felt could not risk the rebellion. The horn blew for everyone to assemble. There Alexander addressed the 6 brave men and women who choose to do this. When he was done they exited the underground hideout under the cover of night. Deborah gave her son the most affectionate smile she could. She new at 15 he would not appreciate her hugging him in front of the other’s he already had to deal with the “ He’s so young bit “.

It’s been two months and Josh wasn’t aware that the other five hadn’t even come close to their destinations, they had to travel all the way to Berlin. Each supposedly coming from different entry points in hope that one would get through with their precious cargo. The Germans were the only fraction that had a broad cast radio system, All other fraction could only hear what they were reporting if a dollar bill any off them arrived they could verify it to the worldwide population. Josh arrived in Berlin scared but determined The broadcast said that an agent from the radio would be waiting at the point where the Berlin wall stood every day at 11am until noon to verify. The agent would be identifiable by the one red socks he would be wearing under the standard dress code. Josh sees him across the street and proceeded to head for him the street was crowded with people and soldiers going to and fro, when Josh thought he was almost there the unthinkable happened a man knocked him hard and his hat fell of revealing his long ponytail. Everyone stopped to steer the soldiers yelled “ you there stop your under arrest” Josh could only think of one thing get the dollar to his contact. He started running.

Across the street Hans sees the boy running thinking what this might mean, he starts reporting through a hidden radio in his coat. “I see a boy running he has a long ponytail, the police are chasing him he’s pulling something out of his pocket”. BANG BANG, gunshots silenced the air as people all over ducked. Josh sees the dollar a few inches in front of him his bloody hands reached for it and held it tight. Some where in the distance he hears the words “ They shot him, they just killed him”. As the sound of his heartbeat crawled towards the long dark call of death his hands relinquished its treasure. People were running now; around him, over him as the police proceeded to drag his body away. A little boy shoes appeared in front his empty eyes and the bloody dollar bill stuck to the underside of it. Deborah screamed and her knees buckled, as the agent reported her son’s body being dragged, no dollar bill to be seen.

Later that night Khan’s mother cleaning his shoe saw the bloody dollar bill under his shoe. The words “ In God we trust” shone serenely, not knowing its value and what it stood for; promptly threw it in the fireplace.

Days of Darkness

At a glance there was nothing strange about Mandingo,it was just another little village cut off from the rest of the country.Inside it’s bondaries there were no paved road or concrete structures,just a muddy track that would travel the length of the village.Inside the first little shack a little girl yelled "ouch" as her mummy tried in vain to remove chiga lavas from her feet by candle light.It was just 4pm ,but already the tiny village had a feel of midnight.All children were told to be in by 3pm.Life was simple; yet deceivingly treacherous on the islands in the 1920’s .There were worst things to worry about than sailors taking advantage of little village girls.Things unexplained that went bump in the night, that no village hunting party could hunt down and destroy.Against such perils, the only recourse was to keep your “Picnis” inside after 3pm less ;“The Duoens” would find them.Duoens were said to be children who died before they were blessed come back to steal unattended children from their parents.

Children were precious in those days,many were lost along with their mothers during childbirth.The ones that survived, were protected with a ferocity that one would attriute to a crazed lion looking over her cub.Yet inspite of that ,every year dozens of children went missing. Many a mothers and fathers stood on the boundary of Cayey forest, calling for children who would never return home.Cynthia was one of 14 children who lived in the village , like her peers she loved the freedom and simplicity that village life brought. She like the others new what was expected of them ,and there was only one rule “Doh leh 3’ o clock meet yuh outside”.

Cynthia however was like most children her age,curious. And always the very young don't always do what their told. So it was one evening ;she found herself with four other's down by the pond ,that lies at the edge of the village.It was dark not because the sun did'nt shine but because it could not pierce the thick canopy overhead.Each one had within their hands ,a small jar in which tiny fishes could be placed and taken home as pets.Uncle Shaboneau came out of the nearby bushes with a bundle of lucky bush in one arm and a sickle in the other." Ltittle picnis" he shouted " hurry up and go home".He approached Cynthia and wiped under her nose " Look how yuh dutty yuh face,yeh muddah go cut yuh tail". He said his piece, then vanished into the bushes again.The children played in the pond some more, before Cynthia's voice reached them from the other side of the pond." Alyuh hear de children dem ah callin"the other's turned to look at her, utterly perplexed by whom she was reffering to." who yuh ah talking too de Cynthia " Said Simon looking more and more concerned.Before he could say anything more she took off through the bamboos calling.The other's tore after her ,but it was as if she vanished into thin air.

That night the village was somber,another one gone. Igard Cynthia's father was beside himself ."Not meh child,not me child ah go find she" Miriam Cynthia's mother tried in vain to console him. " I will find dem Duoens"abruptly he got up and backed a small bag and he too disappeard in the forest.After 2 days Igard was about to give up their was no sign of his daughter,till a tall dark figure caught his attention up ahead.Without making a sound he followed the figure to a nearby hut in a clearing deep .It was a part of the woods not even he had ventured ,he waited out side until the figure emerged and was revealed under the moonlight. It was Shabounea, but what was he doing here ? For he lived in the village, he ventured inside the hut only to be stopped dead in his tracks by the sight.

Skulls dozens of skulls hanging on the walls,from the looks of them they were children.On the table at the far ends was the remains of his daugter,she had been skinned and her fat scraped out. His breathing grew rapid anger and grief pulsed in his veins,he grabbed the sickle from off the table,gripping it tight in his hands.Soon he heard footsteps on the grass outside and like a man with a mission he went through the doorway. A horrific scream shattered the night air.After 5 days Igard re-enterd the village his wife ran out to meet him seeing his empty hands she knew there was no hope of ever seeing her daughter again.Her eyes wet betrayed the anger in her voice whan she asked " Yuh find dem Dueons"? He looked at her and the now small gathering of people who came out to see." Yeah i find dem ,no more picnis will go missin no more.

Quillen's "Slip" (poem version)

It sensed my face,
knew I watched spellbound by
its confusion—its pain,
absorbed and defining a nightmare existence.

“Slip,” a fiberglass sculpture
shaped like an engorged “S”
through a looking glass . . .
Eyes blinking top and bottom,
vulgar vertical lips breathing sighs,
uttering sounds
almost inaudible,
almost sensual,
always searching.

“Wow-wow; low, low, low, low.
Oh no! Oh no! Where did you go?”
gave form and measure—
meaning to its multimodal essence,
across the museum:
Grieving, foreboding, apocalyptic.

Maria listened—
no eyes, mouth, nostrils—just
Skin draped with cascading black hair.
Unpainted, like an unfinished manikin
on canvass,
Maria could only imagine how
“Slip” appealed to all senses.
Like an abstract conversationalists,
they communicate.


Sterling Warner
Summer 2009

Life Aghast

It was awful. It was terrible. The images that I’ve witnessed will be burned into my head forever. I walk away now truly understanding the harsh reality of what war really is. What I just came out of can only be described as the most gruesome cut throat battle ever witnessed. It all happened so fast. One minute we were standing frontline watching them ride over the horizon; in the next moment I’m in the middle of a whirlwind of blood from all angles. All I could hear was screaming, and chaos as the gun powder filled the air. I’m not sure how long the battle lasted. All I can remember is the last moments of one of our fellow soldiers. After the field cleared I saw him, waddling in a pool of his own blood, gasping for air, until slowly fading to rest before I could even react. He just laid there motionless.

I was at a total loss for words. I had to sit down for a moment. I couldn’t believe it. I always wanted to join the army but for this? I myself came out completely unharmed but I just as well could’ve been shot, because that’s how I felt at the moment. I couldn’t even bear to look. It was too devastating. As the cold wind blew through the air we returned to our base where I stayed awake all night with my mind racing.

I didn’t know if I even wanted to continue at this point. At times I forget what exactly I’m fighting for to begin with, but there’s no way I can quit. We just have to continue on, but each day is harder. It’s a shame things had to end up like this but we’re all forced to search for light at the end of the tunnel. I wonder if justice will truly prevail. I also wonder how my family feels right now. However one thing I do know is that after what I’ve seen, every breath taken is one worth cherishing.

Eovl & Ecaep, Xes, Sgurd fo Sare Eht

Bell Bottoms, big hair, is that weed I smell?
Funkadelic colors, tie-dyed shirts, loving so good that it hurts
Sniffing snow, eating caps, tripping out over all this crap
JFK, Yellow Submarines, is that a Bee Gee I see?
Fight the Power, Black Panther, Peace & Love, let’s all hug
Far Out, Groovy, Abbey Road, Let’s all get blowed
Flashing lights, slick moves, John Travolta with a funny do
I’m starting to combine eras, but I don’t care, Watergate treated Nixon unfair
Vietnam, Rocky & Apollo Creed, Man on the Moon, who would’ve believed?
It’s almost the end of this song, Feminism started to boom
Let’s end on this note, the 60’s and 70’s had a lotta fucking smoke




(It’s better if I read it, I can make it sound like it actually rhymes, by alliterating specific syllables)

Good Morning

I slowly open my eyes to the sound of the pitter patter of the rain. The last thing I remember was turning around and shooting my arrow towards my enemy. What happened next was a total blur. I slowly started to sit up, but an agonizing pain rushed through me. It was as if thousands of pins suddenly pricked my left shoulder all at once. I winced and lay back down.
“You shouldn’t move too much,” a voice said. It was definitely male; older and a little rough. I wasn’t able to see him, but he sounded close.
“Where am I?” I asked, starting to pant. The pain had become unbearable.
“Safe – at least for now,” he answered. “I found your bloodied body by the riverbank. It must have been quite a fight.”
I stayed silent this time. I didn’t remember any rives close to where I had been fighting. Not a single body of water could have been found. We were fighting in a field.
“Where’s the rest of my platoon?” I finally asked. My rescuer did not answer this time around. I tried to move my head to see where I was, but my body hurt too much. I heard clunking noises that had to be his footsteps. It would mean he was wearing heavy armor.
“Please. Where am I? Where are the rest of my friends?” I pleaded. Still no answer from this person, and though I wanted to continue asking questions, my sight had become fuzzy and I fell unconscious once more.

“Attack! Attack! Get those bastards! Spare no one! Remember what they did to our farms; to our women and children! Give them nothing, but take from them EVERYTHING!!”
Swords clashed, arrows rose into the air and pierced their targets. Many were yelling with hate and they all desired to annihilate the other. This was war. The Kleins had raided our land, raped our women, and made us their slaves. However, with the man we call Leader, that life is no more. It took months to plan our rebellion, but once the gears started, it was hard to stop us. And with Leader taking charge, victory and freedom weren’t far.
“This is our last stand. We’ve managed to push them back towards our boundaries. Their supplies are low; their soldiers are demoralized. We can win this! We can take back our country that they so defiled and perverted. Remember this day! This is the day we get our freedom! Charge!
It definitely was the last stand. It was fifteen hundred of us versus eight hundred of them – or at least that was what we thought.

“NOOO!” I called out towards the darkness as I sat up. The pain of a thousand needles pricking me returned wherein I then clutched my left shoulder. I continued to heavily pant remembering the battle all too vividly.
“Are you okay?” asked the voice through the darkness. “What happened?” I heard his clunking footsteps get closer, but with the darkness of the night, I still could not see my rescuer.
“Yes, I’m sorry. Just a bad dream,” I replied weakly. I suddenly felt a presence standing next to my bed, and I clearly saw the silhouette of a tall and large man.
“Hear, drink up,” he said handing me what seemed to be a chalice. However, once taking it from him, it did not feel like an ordinary chalice. It wasn’t round, but obtuse. It had all different kinds of angles and curves.
“What is it?” I asked, a little hesitant to drink.
“Something that will make you feel better,” he replied softly. I didn’t know what else to do, my throat had been dry. After a few more seconds of hesitation, I finally took the plunge and sipped what my rescuer handed to me.
It was vile. Whatever it was I drank had been warm, thick, and tasted of iron.
“Drink it all up. I’ve especially made it for you.” I don’t know what got into me, but instead of throwing it away, I drank it – all. I could feel my stomach turn and with that, my shoulder pain peaked and once more I only saw the darkness of my mind.

“We’ve been tricked! Everyone fall back! Fall back!” The sky had turned black with so many arrows rising into the sky. Like a swarm of angry bees, the enemy’s counterattack went through our numbers, stinging all they can with their pointed heads. Not only did they have reinforcements, but had another country to aide them. We would be massacred.
“NO!” I called out in defiance. “We’ve gone through hell and I’m not going back! We fight on! Think of the sacrifices we’ve already given! Think of our people who entrusted us to defeat the Kleins! We cannot lose hope! We cannot give up! I’d rather die here and now than go back to become a slave.”
And then I rode off towards the enemy. I decided back then if it would just be me versus all of them, it would be fine. As I yell and charged at my opponent, I was taken aback by the loudness of my voice. For a brief moment I thought I was given power, but to my surprise, it was my army charging behind me to what would definitely be our last stand.

I slowly opened my eyes to the sound of songbirds. My body’s aches weren’t that unbearable any longer, so I was able to move a bit more. I sat up a bit, though I used my right arm for leverage. For the first time I could clearly see where I was. It was a small cottage. There was a single window by the bed, a single wooden table with a single wooden chair. It was neat, organized, and something a big brute like the silhouette I saw last night could accomplish.
As I continued to sit up I felt something heavy weighing me down on my right finger. My eyes widen with the sight of what I held. “No…” I whispered softly.
“Ah, good morning,” said the voice.
“No. No. NO! NO!” I cried aloud as I continued to hold the decaying head of one of my beloved friends. His face had been burned to the bone, yet the top remained the same, save for one minor detail. The top of his skull was cut open, his brain removed, and instead, remnants of blood remained.
“I really hoped you enjoyed what you drank last night. I especially made it just for you.” I turned around the best I could and behind me was the man who rescued me. But he was also the man who enslaved my people.
“AAARRRGGGHHHHH!!!!!!”

The Stone Tears of a Ballerina

“Get on your knees swine! I want you on your hands and knees now! I’m not going to tell you again!”
“Yes Mistress.”
“You like to roll around in your own filth and squeal like a little dirty piglet, don’t you?”
“Oooh yes Mistress, make me squeal! Make me squeal!”
“Quiet Swine!” I’ll tether that pink ass of yours till you bleed like a stuffed hog.”
“Yes Mistress!”
“What did the piggy say?”
“Oink, oink oink oink!”

Swine began to root at the ground as Mistress flexed and massaged her tone, sleek body. Her long black hair stayed in its perfect form as she stretched and posed in various mind bending positions. She seemly ignored the groveling being at her feet and began looking intently at her body.

“Don’t I have such lovely legs you shit rooting puss?” She hissed through a forced smile, never taking her eye off her leg.
“Oh yes Mistress, oink oink oink.” Sweat began to pool around Swine’s collar and his once white, pressed shirt began to murky in color around the arm pits.
“And isn’t my hair just perfect?”
“Hair…oink oink…hair…” He sniffed the floor around her shoe, making sure not to touch her in the faintness of ways. Teasing the tip of her shoe with his hot breath was enough for his penis to be at full attention.

“Oh you would just love to touch me wouldn’t you? You would relish the moment your nasty, sweaty palms touch and slide all over my wonderful curves.” Her slim, graceful hands slowly skimmed down fluid skin and followed skillfully down the valley of her breast to the soft, pudding like mounds of flesh between her thighs.

She wasn’t always like this, beating old pasty white men for 400 bucks per session. Mistress use to be a dancer. Her dainty feet never pushed her up to slide down a pole but only felt the thin cushion of silk and lace shoes that trained her toes to withstand the weight of her whole body. You would never understand the point of the word focus until you stood on your toes. She was beautiful. She still was, but something was cracked and hollow in her face now. Her ivory skin once draped in fabrics tailored to fit and caress in all the right places. Her eyes twinkled under the stars that were lured to her and the moon’s face was the only one that can match the sweet pleasantness of her soft features. Before, her ears housed peach fuzzed whispers of French delights and lovely things, instead of the haunty breathing of fat, middle age business men who only got off when their ass was the same color of a over ripe cherry.

Her body use to give birth to mind numbing art, dazzling silhouettes and fluid physical poetry. Now, she was a doll. Never touched, drool replaced the roses that were once laid at her feet, rippling fat the substitute of thundering applause and her smile a pin down frown that showed only anger, fury and unspeakable wraith that only a female body can produce and express.

The transformation was painful. She would sometimes awake in the middle of the night and feel it ripping through her soft flesh and shiny bones. Moans and howls would follow long into the night and little by little she began to molt her feathers away and step where she once leaped. There were tears, but they usually followed by confusion and self loathing thoughts. Words like ‘disgusting’ and ‘vile’ took the face of ‘okay’ and ‘maybe’. Actions that were once beneath her and out of the question became “temporary” and “new experience.” Her box pointed shoes were on ice and she was just on a break. How far away all that seemed now. Her only talent nowadays seemed to be ripping the animalistic nature from the mouths of these civilizes beasts. How she longed to be on stage and feel the smooth wood under her feet instead of the soft clicking of her heels as she leaves out the side door; to walk pass the family pictures of these rosy cheek men who carve to crawl more in their shadows than to walk tall in their lives light and she brought it all to life, didn’t she?

She remembered in days long passed that when she was upset or depressed her mother always told her to just practice. “Feel the muscles tightening in your body and focus hard on each formation.” She would use the negative for good and push her further to become a better dancer. When she lost her baby before it had a chance to form fingers she spent her time doing changment de pieds or Demi detourne until her thighs were swollen and her feet bloody and raw. Her elders would fawn over her and say things, “How did you become such a good dancer?” or “My! What form, she really has a delight for the art.” The true art was her shaping the misfortune into something beautiful and useable. That’s why there were always tears in the judges’ eyes and the audience hung off of each spin. They all saw the scars and the busted muscles and the aching and they loved her for what she made of it! Dancing solved it all. Except…one thing….

“Mistress...Mistress please…oink oink...” Swine’s face was red and bubbling up around the edges. He was hard as US steel by now. She slowly turned and looked in the mirror. Swine still had his business shirt on with the stain of coffee that Maria accidently slipped on him after his 9am conference call. His snout was moist and slightly brown from sticking it in places it had no reason to be. Tears swelled up in her eyes and her black hair hung around her face as if to cape it away from the rest of the world. Instead of crying she gently lifted her leg so that the black stiletto was gleaming from the bedroom light, high above her head. She used the pressure from the back of her throat that wanted to produce a sob to whisper the beautiful French words that once found warmth and comfort in her impassive ears. The words were too weak to block out the grunts and squealing of Swine who was rooting and stampeding across the marble floor.

Humble swine

He called himself a ladies man,a babe magnet,a stud.Above all, he was a man that prided himself on his good looks. No woman could withstand his charm, nor his devilish smile that liked the sirens song would beckon them to heartbreak. Yes oh yes ,many a hearts did he break. Young,old,rich,poor,vareid shapes and sizes succumed to his pouting lips and gyrating hips.There was one time he couterd a woman away from her husband of twelve years, only to rise on summer's eve to tell her. "Darling it's not you,you see i'm not a one woman man. It is just to damn a shame to deprive the world of women all this goodness".She watched his back as it exited her bedroom door.On another occassion he wooed a virgin to relenquish her precious cargo just because, just because.

He was truly a dispicable bastard,gorgeous but dispicable.His reputation preceeded him so he was always willing to take the bet that he could make any woman fall for him. And so it was the house on Abel hill became a new kingdom to conqueor.The old woman's grand-daughter was a rose among daisy's. Her hair hung like silk in the halls of olympus,her eyes were like doves eyes; piercing flesh from bone and her skin oh her skin looked like velvet. She was truly a forbiden fruit.Many a men dreamed of entering her doorway only to be shot down by her grand mother and mother.Three women in a house alone strange, but for the prize that awaited a man bold enough to brave the bricked walkway it was worth it . The more unatainable for Markos the better,a stiff penis has no concious.

Like a Jaguar in the Amazon, he plotted and planned a way to gain entry into the household.For weekes he watched and observed that the young lady's mother every afternoon at 4pm would walk outside their iron gates to feed the ducks in the pond across the street. This was the window he needed. He approached one afternoon and asked to join her. "what's a beautiful philly like you doing spending your evening with ducks"? She turned an looked at him, he could see where the young lady got her looks from, her mother to was beautiful.She smiled a smile that he'd seen too often as his own, but he was intrigued. "I like ducks, feed them a couple of times and they always come running". She peaked his interest "yes they do,do they", he wanted to know more. "May i ask your name?" Markos believed for sure his charm was working for she tenderley touched his hand and whisphered. "My name is Tisiphone".

As days turned into weeks, Markos was finally ready to catch his prey."Well boys it's been 2wks and tonights the night i enter the sacred shrine", laughing haughtly while lifting his beer.Markos thought to himself not one, but two womenhe could potentially bed tonight. Eventually 7pm came and his fingers eagerly rang the doorbell to the house on the hill. An elderly woman answered definitely the eldest of the women. She looked to as if she had been quite beautiful.Her croaky voice floated through the doorway. "You must be Markos, i am Grandma Alecto come in".He entered a beautiful and spacious corridor, and was greeted by Tisiphone further inside the grand house.A sweet smell flooded his nostrils and with that he felt as if his mind was floating.Tisiphone took him by the arm into the parlor.No sooner had he sat down out came the daughter in a very sheer dress. She greeted him with the most sexy smile, "Hello my name is Megaera" he breathe deeply ,her beauty was overwhelming it took his breath away.

Tisiphone seeing his lusty expression asked "You like my daughter do you"? Not taking his eyes off Megaera he meant to say no, but he could'nt . "Yes i do " his mind realizing his error yelled why the hell did i say that? His thought was puntured by the old ladies croaky voice. "What did you come here for"? His mind, his thoughts were to exposed he could'nt help himself. His voice strained as he tried to keep from answering but he did. "I came here to have sex with the young lady and her mother ,then tell my friends all about it".He was screwed now for sure he thought.The young lady walked closer to him knelt between his legs then kissed him deeply, she was replaced by her mother ,then her grandmother who blew in his face a gentle breeze and uttered " PIG".He walked out of the house never rembeing what happened but never changing his ways. However each time Markos broke a woman's heart, a piece of himself underwent a strange tranformation until the man ultimately disappeared and the old woman's words came true.

How well can we ever know our neighbors? Perhaps we might better ask, how well do we want to? It is said that our relationships deepen as secrets give way to truth. It may be, however, that there are some stones better left unturned.Markos found that out to well the day he crossed the paths of three furious women.

You Son of a Beach

She was a brunette. Many a men complimented her on her good looks. She had a perfect nose, and soft, kissable lips. She worked out, and kept a toned body. She’d been referred to as a coke bottle because of slender, sexy figure. She had c-cups men drooled over. While her outward appearance was to die for, within, she died for an appearance…an appearance of goodness. You see, she wasn’t an ordinary woman, she was troubled, very troubled. She had deep secrets that were too terrible to mention, dark thoughts too demented to think. She was special, quite special…

2009. It had been almost 5 years since it happened. Since the reason she had to change her identity. She had lost it again…whenever she loses it, very bad things happen…lives are lost, families are destroyed…but she doesn’t mean to do it, honestly…but when you’re pushed, you gotta push back, even if it means shoving and tackling down…

At least those feelings had subsided. This was a new life, a new beginning. She didn’t have the most glamorous job, but a job’s a job, and men needed their fix. She was a whore. Literally. The woman described as practically perfect had succumbed to taking tips for sucking dick. Unfortunate, but you gotta do what you gotta do. Her usual uniform consisted of a small beanie tilted back, large aviator sunglasses, and a leather jacket. She wore a tight bra as her shirt so her cleavage looked extra big, the men seemed to like that. The leather jacket was large enough to act as her skirt, men seemed to like that too. Long black boots completed her uniform…she’d usually round up nearly $6,000 a night wearing her uniform.

Despite all the money being made, her “house” (if it could even be called a house), was a one bedroom closet. Everything she had was in that room, and she had to walk a mile and a half for a shower and bathroom. Most of the money went to Johnny. Johnny had found her on the highway dazed, confused, and in rags. He offered her the job, and she reluctantly accepted. Johnny had a particular thing for her, and had sex with her on numerous occasions, most of the time with her resisting. It wasn’t until a month ago she found out she was pregnant. It was Johnny’s kid, but he denied it. It didn’t matter to her, she’d keep the kid anyway and raise the child alone. It wasn’t until the child was born that she finally decided to end Johnny for good. She had the power to do it, she was a special individual, but ending Johnny would mean a new life again…

You see, her power is quite fascinating. She has the ability to manipulate minds, objects, thoughts…practically anything, but it was limited. It was limited to the point where it only worked if the manipulated person was manipulated to suffer. She could also materialize her own thoughts, with the condition being that they have twisted, demented, or horrific. 5 years ago, during an argument, she had lost control of her mind and thought up a horrific way to demolish the person she was angry at. She also manipulated said person to commit heinous crimes and murder. The police only figured out who it was because she had stupidly left behind a glove. It took her five years of running, theft, and multiple identities to finally escape.

She decided that she’d kill Johnny by making him hang himself. Nothing too horrific and just manipulative enough that it’d be plausible he did it to himself. Little Abraham was getting so big, it was a pity that he wouldn’t have a father in his life…

2030. Abe is finally 21. She was still a whore, albeit in another new town, under a new alias, but Abe was fine with it. Surprisingly, she still looked youthful. Her new uniform was much simpler than the one she wore so many years ago… it was just a leather bra and leather shorts. Her powers had subsided again, she was actually happy for once. She smiled as Abe trotted in. Abe was a grown man now, he had features of his father, a snout like nose, big floppy ears…and he was quite husky for a 21 year old. She loved him regardless because he was her son, her creation. Abe could be described just like his mother, one of a kind. Abe is special, because he’s the only half human half pig in existence.

Let us go rewind back to 2009. Johnny was actually a pig. Yes, a pig. He was an experiment gone terribly wrong. At the time, the government was interested in genetic splicing, and had spliced a willing human participant’s genes with that of a pig. The government had hoped that they could literally call an officer of the law a “pig”…they thought wrong. She never made this realization that he was a pig because Johnny had an assortment of disguises to fool her, while beautiful, she wasn’t exactly the brightest bulb. It did make sense now though, because whenever they were having sex, she always had the feeling a pig was fucking her, but she shook it off as just something in her head.

It doesn’t matter though, she loves Abe, and Abe loves her. They’re in Texas now, enjoying life. The sun’s about to set...She and Abe glance at the sunset. She proceeds to put the saddle and harness on Abe’s back, prepping to give him a ride. He oinks in agreement and they ride off happily into the dusk sky.

THE END

Quillen’s “Slip"

It sensed my face, knew I watched spellbound by its confusion—its pain, absorbed and defining a nightmare existence. “Slip,” a fiberglass sculpture shaped like an engorged “S” through a looking glass . . . Eyes blinking top and bottom, vulgar vertical lips breathing sighs, uttering sounds almost inaudible, almost sensual, always searching.

“Wow-wow; low, low, low, low. Oh no! Where did you go?” gave form—meaning to its multimodal essence, grieving and apocalyptic. Across the museum, “Slip” wails to Maria—woman without eyes, mouth, nostrils—just skin draped with cascading black hair. Like an unpainted, unfinished manikin on canvass, Maria only imagines how “Slip” appeals to all senses, yet like an abstract conversationalist, she communicates as well. Both endure.

--Sterling Warner

Posted on behalf of Sterling Warner

Something Short about something that happened at a party.

The following story takes place in San Jose, California. There’s an arrangement of friends who live in SJ and there’s this one house they all tend to gather which will be referred to as The house. That is where most of the story will take place. Most of the people in this story are close to failures in their early adult life, in someway. Each person in the story will have flaws that they can’t cope with or just are oblivious too. Even the narrator (myself). The way they try to cope with their flaws is through fleeting means. They all have their vices (cigarettes, alcohol, drugs, sex, sympathy, empathy, financial instability, bad habits, dumb habits, whatever) but I think I heard someone once say "a man with a vice, is a man with character" or something like that. Heavily sedated and unmotivated. These are my friends.

So, here's this one friend, let's call him Walter.

Walter came to The house with this a young girl named (let's say) Kelly Vu. When I first saw her, I figured Walter with a different girl. I won't even bother meeting her. You see, Walter is pretty good at getting chicks. One of the truest things that, in our small group of friends, we actually agree on is that Walter gets chicks. Then when he's hanging with the guys, he speaks of it as sport or hunting. I can imagine that Walter was a savage hunter in a past life that would take down a mammoth bison just by running straight at it with a spear and drag it to a cave. That hunter might of had sex with just about anything too.

Okay, so the chick, Kelly. When Walter brought her to The house this one time, it was actually the fourth time. It was another party, about 1 AM when Walter shows up. Kelly is with him again and she brought her friends. They all dressed like the girls in downtown San Jose on a Friday night who go to the clubs (instead of the bars). Walter was a bar person so I figured it weird that they might of actually met outside of an alcohol-involved setting. So, Kelly was probably different. Walter might actually hang on to this one for a while.

At some point in the party, I go and meet her and her friends. My other friend, let's call him Barry, was there as well so he could meet the other chicks. So, Kelly says "Hi, I'm Kelly. Sorry we haven't gotten to meet yet."

Good start on her part. I say "No, I'm sorry. Y'know, we don't see Walter a lot so I don't say much more than hi. I'm (my name), by the way" We shake hands.

Barry shakes hands too and does his thing "I'm Barry," he raises his hand in a wave gesture. "Sorry I didn't get to meet you, even though I live here, I'm usually working. Also, I figured I wouldn't see you around that much."

"Yeah, no kidding." I say. I look at Barry and does that probably-shouldn't-have-said-that-look. I take a drink to make it look like I don't want to talk anymore.

Kelly looks up in thought for a moment, then her eyes squint in suspicion. "No kidding? What do you mean?" she actually asks playfully.

"He probably meant that Walter is a man-whore." Barry answers with pleasure.

"You see. I figured I wouldn't introduce myself the first time you came here cause Walter comes here with a different chick every time. At first, I would go and meet them or he'd introduce them to everyone, at the least." We make our way to the backyard for a smoke. Then I continue "But, eventually it didn't even matter cause he came with a different chick at least every other week or month. I think I've seen at least seven different chicks within this year alone already and it's only April!" I knew I was making my friend look real bad, but we've been drinking. I'll just talk about things I observe.

Then Barry had to come in with "hope you're wearing protection with that guy."

Then I just had to continue. "There was this time where he said he was going Christian and I actually have a good photo of him where he wore a shirt that said 'Christian' on it with a little halo over the t. He didn't want to or have to say why he was doing that. We all knew. He's somewhat transparent in my book, no offense, he's a good guy, but he was only doing it to get with another Christian chick."

"Virgins are tough sport," Barry adds. "Also, he still kind of texts Alison a lot. In fact, I was just with him and he was tex-" Kelly put out her cigarette and walked away as if she didn't even pay attention. Barry and I watch her walk away both knowing that we would never see her after tonight. Also, we were both just watching walk away cause she was hot and both of us were actually thinking "I'd have sex with her". And of course, I know we both thought that cause Barry said it outloud.

Later that night, Kelly and her friends got real drunk and made quite a mess in the kitchen and bathroom. Walter wasn't around when that happened so it was difficult to even get these girls' names when they could hardly hold a decent conversation.



Two weeks later, we forgot her name because Walter got with another girl already.