Bring dynamite and a crane
Blow it up start all over again... (Tobacco Road)Obligation
His fly is open.
His cock is a two-forked tongue of the bell.
Meanwhile, he sharpens a boning knife.
The famulus is skinning the foil off a book.
Now the poet is the boss. (Hanging on a hook.)
Mr. Blockhead and Miss Witless complete
the selection committee.
After the explosions comes the living revolution
paralyzed into barrenness
(It destroys things unnoticed.)
The hissing, decaying wreckage of our world:
a billion barricades on the river Otter Tail.
The poet would call the literates of Honeyland
hiding in the swamps,
but they are blind,
deaf and
mute.
(Translated by Gabor Gyukics)
Bring dynamite and a crane
Blow it up start all over again...
(Tobacco Road) Obligation
Slicc nyitva.
A pöcs kétágú harangnyelv.
Közben csontozókést köszörül.
A famulus könyvfólia-bőrt nyúz.
A költő most kápó. (Kampón függ.) Gyöpinger úr és
Ostobenkó kisasszony kiegészíti
a választmányt.
A robbanások után jön az élő,
meddővé vénült csend forradalma.
(Észrevétlenül pusztít.)
Világunk sziszegve málló roncs-maradványai:
milliárd torlasz a Vidrafarok-folyón.
A lírikus szólítaná Mézföld mocsarkba bújt
írástudóit,
de vak,
süket,
némult mind…
Laszlo Aranyi (Frater Azmon)
Goetia
Legless centipede. On all four.
A bloated abdomen split like a gangrenous log.
(A fissure in a blinded mirror of ice) A shriveled faced pirate with dangling balls
is the late prey of our civilization.
The deck is a lifeless quicky,
where the flayflints of our freedom feast,
with their saliva dripping,
the laughing Grim Reaper dances like a living shred of meat on the festive table.
"Go on, leave the wheel, turn into a bottlenose dolphin yourself!"
Behold, the hominid,
and his ubiquitous sidekick,
this is what we deserve,
some hideous beast, it's holy true. "No, to the trough,
my friends, but up for puking!"
Then one day you'll awake in your grave, and touched by the one returning before us, "Come, leave it to the maggots," and points at the wobbling,
filmy moon-palm above us -
“you will now move into his body…"
Freedom is simply as follows: the condemned man can choose the method of his execution. And we telling lies stating that this ever-decaying terminal stage is progress. Three-pronged wand, cudgel, bell, shrunken head of a man,
sickle, wax rigidity after bloodsucking, catatonic delirium.
Fingerprints of our doings on cosmic flypaper.
The Earth purged of humanity, and the boisterous oceans are continue writing their history without us…
(Translated by Gabor Gyukics)
Goetia
Épkézláb százlábú. Négykézláb.
˙qálzéʞʎƃéN
Üszkös fahasábként hasadó, felfúvódott has.
(Hasadás megvakult jégtükrön…) Aszott pofájú, lógó tökű kalóz
kései zsákmánya civilizációnk.
Élettelenné vált tákolmány a fedélzet,
szabadságunk uzsorásai ott lakmároznak,
nyáluk csordul,
élő húscafatként táncra perdül a röhögő Kaszás az ünnepi asztalon.
„Menj csak, hagyd a kormányt, változz pléhcsőrű delfinné te is!”
Íme, az emberszabású,
valamint a mindenütt megbúvó kísérője,
amely,
amit érdemlünk,
valami undorító szörny, az szentigaz. „No, vályúhoz,
cimborák, okádásig!”
Egyszer aztán föleszmélsz a sírban, s megérint az előttünk visszatérő: „jöjj, hagyd a férgeknek, - s a fölöttünk imbolygó,
hártyás hold-tenyérre mutat -
mostantól az ő testébe költözöl…”
A szabadság mindössze ennyi: a halálraítélt választhat a kivégzési módok közül. S fejlődőnek hazudjuk ezt a folyamatosan hanyatló végstádiumot. Háromhegyű pálca, dorong, harang, zsugorított
emberfő, sarló, vérívás utáni viaszmerevség, kataton révület.
Viselt dolgaink újjlenyomatai a kozmikus légypapíron. Nélkülünk is tovább írja történetét
az emberiségtől megtisztult Föld, s a háborgó óceán.
Laszlo Aranyi (Frater Azmon) poet, anarchist, occultist from Hungary. Earlier books: „(szellem)válaszok”, „A Nap és Holderők egyensúlya”, „Kiterített rókabőr”His poems in English have appeared in over a hundred journals. New book about to be published, “Delirium &…The Seven Haiku” (Published By DEAD MAN’S PRESS INK ALBANY, NY 2023). He has been nominated several times for international awards. He is known for being a spiritualist medium and his work explores the relationship between magic and art.
WHEN YOU SMILE BACK
I am your companion, your lover and friend
You are the heart that feels my every emotion
My heartbeat, is the wellspring of your life
You seek your home in my arms every night
and in my hands I hold your tender heart
We've both overcoming earlier difficulties
and have grown in many ways together
Only you truly know the beats of my heart
whether I am happy or I am somber inside
But oh, how easily you can find my smile
And when you smile back.. there is no doubt
that my pounding heart beats only for you.
I NEVER KNEW DREAMS CAME TRUE
Far away I may be in distance
but in my heart you are so close
What I thought was only in dreams
has become reality in front of my eyes
I will never grieve you with my pain
Though I know you'd take it gladly
Just keep me in your prayers at night
The One above us will give me rest
You ask me what is my reality
I think you know by now
But the words are like a wish
I dare not say it out loud
Or else it may not come true.
Just know that no matter what happens
in my heart you will always have a place
Every time you think of me, I will appear
And in sleep, no one can take you from me...
MY CHILDREN... WALK BESIDE ME
Walk quietly beside me
along a shore that never ends
Tell me your dreams and desires in life,
tread lightly through the twists and bends
Make me smile with your beautiful laughter
Experience a distant land
Visit me when you feel lonely
and for a moment, hold my hand
And my children, I promise you this..
I will always walk beside you when you reach a rocky trail
I will encourage you to live your dream, even if you try and fail
I will proudly cheer you on as you accomplish your every dream
I will hold you up when you feel weak
on me you still can lean
Many say they will be there for you
and many may not follow though
But when life gets too hard at times
I'll be there to walk with you
Always help another in need
put yourself in their place
Cause one day you may be the one
who needs to be shown grace.
My children, I'll always love you. Life's an adventurous race to run
Just give me a moment now and then before my days are done
For one day you will walk my path, realizing that time does end
You'll find yourself wishing you had more time on earth, but
time.. it never lends...
YOUR SILENCE SPEAKS FOR ITSELF
We used to speak almost everyday
Life got complicated and time went by
Before I knew, it became years
I know now that you didn't know why
But I thought you would understand
I needed time to heal inside
without advice or reprimand
never meaning to hurt your pride
When you needed time I never failed
to understand why I didn't hear from you
To me our friendship always prevailed
I'm sure thoughts of me now are few
When I felt strong enough to talk again
You returned my letters that now sit on a shelf…
It was never my intention to shut you out,
and now your silence speaks for itself.
Now I am ready to let go...
Kristy Ann Raines is an American poet and author born on April 9, 1957, in Oakland California. Kristy has five books which will soon be published. One anthology with a prominent poet from India, Dr. Prasana Kumar Dalai, will launch sometime around August 2023 and is called, “I Cross my Heart from East to West.” She has also written two fantasy books entitled, “Rings, Things and Butterfly Wings” and “Princess and The Lion”, an collection of poems in English,” Walking Without You”, a collection in French, “Little Rose Poetry”, and one in Arabic called, “Jasmine and Roses.” Kristy has received many literary awards for her unique style of writing.
Dear Past,
I thank you for revealing life’s art,
For letting me taste its every part,
In pains, joys, words unkind or sweet,
You shaped me whole, made me complete.
Stronger now, forged by your embrace,
Wounds and scars adorn with grace,
Etched like art on canvas, body and soul,
Each story they tell, making me whole.
Those scars, in sorrow’s shadow born,
Became my drive, my fires were sworn,
You spurred me on, fanned my inner fire,
Turning pain into purpose, soaring higher.
For every tear, a clearer sight ahead,
Each ache a milestone, towards goals I tread,
Truly, you’re the gift that keeps giving still,
Turning trials into strength, an iron will.
Through trials akin to the inferno’s maw,
Earthly challenges seem but straw,
Betrayals and falsehoods left thorns to find,
Yet deeper pain I’ve met, a crucible of the mind.
Now I stand strong, a conqueror in grace,
Thankful for the storm that shaped my pace,
Thankful for a tempest of lessons and more,
A past complex and layered, its wisdom I adore.
Defined not solely by what’s already done,
You’re a prologue, a journey, a rising sun,
A force that propels me into the unknown,
With lessons as my armor, confidence has grown.
Past, I’m grateful for your steady hand,
Guiding me through this intricate land,
Now I step into Future, arms stretched wide,
Prepared for an adventure, with hope as my guide.
a tight sweater
anytime i see
a woman in a
tight sweater
i think of that
night we had
at the farm
alone in the
middle of
winter
a bottle of
bourbon
your tight
sweater
and plenty
of time to
go find a
new tomorrow
we never did
but i certainly
remember each
and every attempt
----------------------------------------------------------------------
pretend
pretend you don't ache
with every breath
pretend prayer actually works
pretend that some woman
will actually love you one
day
pretend your opinion actually
matters
pretend that voting can actually
change the world
pretend the sunshine isn't
killing you
pretend the rain doesn't cause
your arthritis to dance
pretend that blonde in the
corner isn't telling you to
fuck off
pretend those flashing lights
behind you aren't the police
coming for you
pretend these therapists
want to see you get better
pretend the handcuffs are
just stylish new bracelets
for all the cool kids
pretend that you don't think
about death each and every
day
------------------------------------------------------------------
conversations with myself
any sense of fun
i had in me was
beat out of me
in my childhood
i can remember
conversations
with myself since
the age of eight
i once ran away
with thirty-seven
cents in my pockets
i came back three
days later with
twenty bucks
and a stolen
carton of
cigarettes
others swear they
used to see so
much potential
in me
they are as
disappointed
now as my
family was
when i was
born
i once had a blood
clot from my left
calf to my left hip
i slowed my heart
rate down and asked
to die
i'm starting to believe
kind souls don't exist
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
and your favorite recliner
they never told
you that doggy
in the window
was never
housebroken
so, he will actually
cost a new sofa,
flooring and your
favorite recliner
i always liked
cats better
which apparently
makes me a
communist
i had a friend that
liked humans on
leashes
which apparently
makes her
popular
whatever gets
you through
the day
i suppose
-----------------------------------------------------
the best thing for him at this time
the father of an old friend
died this past weekend
it wasn't that shocking
to me, but it was unexpected
i used to see him at the
grocery store from time
to time
the years hadn't been
kind to him
so, i figure even though
it is hard to swallow reality
his death is probably the
best thing for him at this
time
i don't want to go to
the funeral
i have the feeling it would
be a high school reunion
i don't want to be invited
to
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know where the bodies are buried. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Disturb the Universe Magazine, The Rye Whiskey Review, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Beatnik Cowboy and Cajun Mutt Press. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights.
Johnny Mem
Tyranny is a soup best bifurcated by patriarchy.
so old gran always said as she baked the smells of smarm
till the windows ran from the oilskin like old men in need of salad.
Artificial brains always remind me of that dessert
with the tentacles and the expiration date
shining in one perfect summer like Nerf bikinis
dipped in dangerous Substacks, the halo of hernias
lowing softly in the mistrial. If only we could return
not to what we were, but to what we would be in a separate discourse
with more engagement and shitposting, more gelatinous rescue
of what Arnold Schwarzenegger terminated before he was good/evil
or evil/good. But you can’t put your face
in the same fire twice, for the fire may pivot to video,
but it is not the same. And neither is your face.
“Fellini’s Mastorna …a film of no return,“ the movie most talked about in film history, finally was finished by Jennifer Glee.
Federico Fellini wrote the script for The Journey of Mastorna in 1965 at the top of his worldwide fame and two years later he created Fellini 8 1/2.
He chose Marcello Mastroianni as the protagonist.
After 11 years, in 1976, Fellini gave me the Mastorna script and invited me to play two characters, but didn’t specify which ones. Fellini was in a strange creative process, which for Mastorna would have had no end.
But Fellini, in Fellini 8 1/2, speaks through Marcello Mastroianni that he didn’t know how to finish the film!
The fact of not wanting to finish a film for which there is already a precise script, means, for Fellini, that he has already made the film!
Actually if you put together all Mastorna’s scenes filmed over the course of 28 years, you could have Mastorna, but, of course, without Fellini’s signature.
After 1993, many directors tried to make the film Mastorna, but only Jennifer Glee has successfully done that.
In short, Jennifer Glee made her contribution to the Fellini 100 by coming with me to Hollywood and presenting the film at the Ruby Theater.
Jennifer began to absorb my experience with Fellini relating to his unfinished film Mastorna.
It was decided between Jennifer and I that the role of the Fortune Teller/Mastorna would be mine. The Another talented actor would play the other main character, the young silent actor who wants to become famous despite his disability.
The Fortune Teller / Mastorna takes the actor on a journey beyond reality, which starts at the Fellini 100 ceremony, where he informs the actor that everything is filmed and therefore the actor cannot go back, but only continue his journey trapped in motion picture film.
There are various reversals of situations, up to an ending that is not an ending!
My experience in the movie Mastorna with Federico Fellini and Jennifer Glee was a wonderful dream, full of ingenious creativity and magic.