violence in the air
cast your eyes
off into the
ocean
you can smell
destruction and
violence in the
air
there is no force
on earth quite
like mother
nature
no matter
whatever any
blowhard in
power tends
to believe
----------------------------------------------------
a lesson
i was
told to
think of
prayer
as talking
directly
to god
so
i guess
waiting
for those
prayers
to be
answered
is a lesson
in being
fucking
ignored
----------------------------------------------------
an appropriate goodbye
i used to always fear
that i would die while
masturbating to the
home shopping
network
now i wish it
would happen as
i think it would
be an appropriate
goodbye to this
world
----------------------------------------------------
this beautiful cruel mistress
asking questions
before it's too late
a hole in your new
pair of pantyhose
sliding into whatever
the fuck dm's are
anymore
you're not interested
in swiping
and aren't exactly sure
if this is something
you're interested in
participating in life
this beautiful cruel
mistress
a flip of the coin
hitting the jack
on the river
luck is only for
those willing
to lose
------------------------------------------------------
with their concern in mind
whispers in the neon
the prettiest girl in
the room is chatting
you up and everyone
is looking on with
disgust
the joy of not living
with their concern
in mind
it is a hard lesson
to learn
but once you do
it makes life so
much easier
to live
with no handcuffs
holding you back
---------------------------------------------------------
J.J. Campbell
51 Urban Ln.
Brookville, OH 45309-9277
jcampb4593@aol.com
https://evildelights.blogspot.com
https://goodreads.com/jjthepoet
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is trapped in suburbia, wondering where all the lonely housewives went. He’s been widely published over the last 25 years, most recently at Horror Sleaze Trash, The Beatnik Cowboy, Jellyfish Whispers, The Rye Whiskey Review and Dumpster Fire Press. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
Note: In 1840, Sir Thomas Browne’s skull was removed from the St. Peter Mancroft Church in Norwich when his coffin was “accidentally” disturbed by workmen. The skull wasn’t returned to lie with the rest of Browne’s earthly remains until 1922. In addition to writing “Religio Medici,” “Urne-Buriall,” and “Pseudodoxia Epidemica,” the 17th century physician and essayist is credited with coining dozens of words including medical, hallucination, electricity, exhaustion and coma.)
From the Misadventures of Sir Thomas Browne’s Skull
#1: Medical
after testing magnetic fluid with apples
tongue tied with a string
& knock
ing on the farmhouse
floorboards
in Hydesville, NY
the Fox sisters gnaw’d
the skull
of Thomas Browne
from seed husks of sunflower & Caledonian pine
communing a shadow image
assembled like the worldly goods
of a Dutch still life
14.7 cm wide
right socket cribra orbitalia,
spermaceti wedged like a fennel bulb in the left
& drip
ping with the endless mutations
of Nature.
#2: Hallucination
her eyes mention sunsets, briefly
but then she nods twice at the overcooked agave
cankering my broad lace collar & breeches
“hole in your lip,” she says & I
glance in the bar mirror at my skull
a festoon of beads & sequins, almonds
painted leaves & roses wreathed around 22 bones
that come together like a puzzle, a calavera
that upon closer inspection is missing a name
it could be me
or just another departed
soul.
#3: Electricity
I sd to the son
of the candle & soap maker
“a tenuous emanation
or continued effluvium
retracteth fire from the clouds”
whereupon the early capitalist
stood in a field
with a large handkerchief
waiting for Zeus
to jump from / the sky.
#4: Exhaustion
After
a 48 year
country ramble
I’m sitting at the Horn of Plenty
in Whitechapel
& I says, Jack
the body is open
to contemplation.
#5: Coma
doorknobs & doorjambs w/ hasps & hinges /
yellow bananas launched on blue boats / telephone game /
the benefit of planting trees in latticelike formation / snowflakes
slide softly soon / where is the square /
doors and jabs w/ hooks & hikes /
blueberries craunched on blue coats / broken telephone /
dead kingfishers do not make good weathervanes / Edinburgh /
the skin of a snake bred out of the spinal marrow of man /
It is to these darkly born Areas we still travel,
bent back as St. Sebastian in sin’s queasy light.
On bored nights, funeral trains circle us.
The conductors stuff cats in their habits as penance,
and by their wise blood Charon is humbled.
By this delivery, Lazarus was brought to die
finally and struggling, giving voice
to the final Word. Death wraps eager hands
with reptile skin. It protects its children. Still
as sullied Hosts, crooked reeds bind
an ill choir, the darkness is disturbed and moons rise
in the eyes of the weak and willing.
Death is not staid, he’s fast spreading, sudden
as wildfire on a derelict’s blanket.
Death’s a ministry and the prayer books
it distributes are filled with dark braille,
a kind that could cure blindness
but can’t be seen for very long.
John Thomas Allen is a 39-year-old poet and hopes to one day camp out in the Poe Museum in Baltimore. He likes hopes the political atmosphere in the US thins out, and that experimental poetry will continue on no matter what happens.
The Tri-angles of Christmas wishes
(From me, them and you (to yourself)
IF: I wish all the best in this Christmas for you,
They wish all that Christmas can best offer you,
then, it will not be out of place to say this to yourself:
‘’I wish me all the best Christmas can offer’’
These are the simple Tri-angle of Christmas wishes
The Cubelli Lagoon
[La albufera de Cubelli]
by Fernando Sorrentino
translated from the Spanish by
Michele Aynesworth
<micheletexas@hotmail.com>, <michele@mckayaynesworth.com>
In the southeast region of the provincial plains of Buenos Aires, you might come across the Cubelli Lagoon, familiarly known as the “Lake of the Dancing Alligator.” This popular name is expressive and graphic, but — just as Doctor Ludwig Boitus established — it is inaccurate.
In the first place, “lagoon” and “lake” are distinct hydrographic occurrences. Secondly, though the alligator — Caiman yacare (Daudin), of the Alligatoridae family — is common to America, this lagoon is not the habitat for any species of alligator.
Its waters are extremely salty, and its fauna and flora are what you would expect for creatures that inhabit the sea. For this reason, it cannot be considered unusual that in this lagoon a population of approximately 130 marine crocodiles are to be found.
The “marine crocodile,” that is, the Crocodilus porosus (Schneider), is the largest of all living reptiles. It commonly reaches a length of some seven meters (23 feet), weighing more than a ton. Doctor Boitus affirms having seen, along the coasts of Malaysia, several of them that were over nine meters (30 feet) in length, and, in fact, has taken and brought back photographs that supposedly prove the existence of such large individuals. But, as they were photographed in marine waters, without external points of reference, it is not possible to determine precisely if those crocodiles were truly the size attributed to them by Doctor Boitus. It would of course be absurd to doubt the word of an investigator with such a brilliant career (even though his language is rather baroque), but scientific rigor requires that the facts be validated by inflexible methods that, in this case, were not put to use.
Well then, it happens that the crocodiles of the Cubelli Lagoon possess exactly the taxonomic characteristics of those that live in the waters around India, China, and Malaysia; hence, they should by all rights be called marine crocodiles or Crocodili porosi. However, there are some differences,which Doctor Boitus has divided into morphological traits and ethological traits.
Among the former, the most important (or, better said, the only) is size. Whereas the marine crocodile of Asia can be up to seven meters long, the one we have in the Cubelli Lagoon scarcely reaches, in the best of cases, two meters (6 feet 6 inches), measuring from the tip of the snout to the tip of the tail.
Regarding its ethology, this crocodile is “fond of musically harmonized movements” according to Boitus (or, to use the simpler term preferred by those in the town of Cubelli, “dancing”). As anyone knows, as long as crocodiles are on land, they are as harmless as a flock of pigeons. They can only hunt and kill when in the water, which is their vital element. They trap their prey between their toothy jaws, then rotate rapidly, spinning until their victim is dead; their teeth have no masticatory function, being designed exclusively to imprison and swallow a victim whole.
If we go to the shores of the Cubelli Lagoon and start to play music, having previously chosen something appropriate for dancing, right away we will see that — let’s not say all — almost all the crocodiles rise out of the water and, once on land, begin to dance to the beat of the tune in question.
For such anatomical and behavioral reasons, this saurian has received the name Crocodilus pusillus saltator (Boitus).
Their tastes are varied and eclectic, and they do not seem to distinguish between esthetically worthy music and music of little merit. Popular tunes delight them no less than symphonic compositions for ballet.
These crocodiles dance in an upright position, balancing only on their hind legs, reaching an average height of one meter, seventy centimeters (5 feet 8 inches). In order not to drag on the ground, their tails rise at an acute angle, roughly parallel to their spines. At the same time, their front limbs (which we could well call hands) follow the beat with various amusing gestures, while their yellow teeth form a wide smile, exuding enthusiasm and satisfaction.
Some townspeople are not in the least attracted by the idea of dancing with crocodiles, but many others do not share this aversion. It’s a fact, every Saturday when the sun goes down they put on their party clothes and gather on the shore of the lagoon.There the Cubelli Social Club has set up everything necessary to make the evening unforgettable. Likewise, people can dine in the restaurant that has arisen not far from the dance floor.
The arms of the crocodile are rather short and cannot embrace the body of their partner. The gentleman or lady dancing with the male or female crocodile that has chosen them places both hands on one of their partner’s shoulders. To achieve this, one’s arms must be stretched to the maximum at a certain distance; as the snout of a crocodile is quite pronounced, one must take the precaution of standing as far back as possible. Though disagreeable episodes have occasionally occurred (such as nasal excision, explosion of ocular globes, or decapitation), it must not be forgotten that, as their teeth may contain the remains of cadavers, the breath of this reptile is far from being attractive.
According to Cubellian legend, occupying the small island in the center of the lagoon are the king and queen of the crocodiles, who it seems have never left it. They say they are each more than two centuries old and, perhaps owing to their advanced age, perhaps owing simply to whim, they have never wished to participate in the dances organized by the Social Club.
The get-togethers do not last much past midnight, for at that hour the crocodiles begin to tire, and maybe to get a little bored; in addition, they feel hungry and, as their access to the restaurant is prohibited, they want to return to the water in search of food.
When no more crocodiles remain on terra firma, the ladies and gentlemen go back to town, rather tired and a little sad, but with the hope that, maybe at the next dance, or perhaps at a later one, the crocodiles’ king, or the queen, or even both together, might abandon their island for a few hours and participate in the party. If this were to happen, each gentleman, though he takes care not to show it, harbors the illusion that the queen of the crocodiles will choose him for her dance partner; the same is true of all the ladies, who dream of dancing with the king.
1086 words
“La albufera de Cubelli” was originally published in Cuadernos del Minotauro (edited by Valentín Pérez Venzalá), Año IV, No. 6, Madrid, 2008, pp. 117-120. The present English version was translated from a slightly modified text.
Middle-Age Superpowers
Can read difficult books even in dim light. Can overeat at lunch and then again at dinner even after having a big breakfast. Can correctly use affect and effect, accept and except, there, their, and they’re. Can get laundry clean without separating whites and colors. Can hold back intestinal gas during job interview, usually. Can win footrace against four-year-old niece if given proper training and warm-up time. Can return mangled paper clip to moderately usable shape with only his bare hands and pliers. Can pass badly dressed teenagers on the sidewalk and withhold comment. Can understand that superpowers are overrated.
Words to Warm a Teacher's Heart
Do we get extra credit for showing up to class? You weren’t kidding about that exam thing? Syllabus? What syllabus? There’s a textbook? My paper is only a month late. I missed class—did we do anything important? You gave me a B—why do you hate me? My paper is about the dangers of seatbelts. I saw it on the internet, so it must be true. I missed ten weeks of class. Is there any way I can still get an A? How much will I get when I sell the textbook back? Do you get paid for this?
Lies his Fifth-Grade Teacher Tried to Make him Believe
Every day, most people on earth pass within twenty feet of a murderer. Human bodies contain three cents worth of minerals. The average fast food hamburger contains 1.7 ounces of bovine hair. While sleeping, human beings swallow or inhale an average of eight spiders during the course of a lifetime. The average bottle of ketchup contains 1.3 worms per cubic inch. Turkeys are far more intelligent than chickens. The Russians established a colony on Mars in 1963, then abandoned it due to lack of funding in 1967. Too much television causes eyeballs to explode. He would never amount to anything.
Everyday Ironies #3
The Mercedes has a vanity plate: AVG JOE. The beer truck is badly parked. After the long skid on the icy road, he has a pretty good idea what his last words will be. Home sick from work, she notices that every clock in the house tells a different time. The snow-covered street is named for a tropical fruit. From the prison by the freeway, a lone inmate near the double-fences waves hello. There is nothing good on television, every channel, for about three hours now. The guy at the bus stop is arguing with the telephone poll and losing.
Everyday Ironies #4
In the bank vault corner, somehow, there’s a scattering of autumn leaves. Fluttering in the breeze, her butterfly earrings. On the lake, autumn leaves float through the reflection of autumn leaves. Just beyond the deer crossing sign, there’s a bear. The neighbors’ bad-tempered cat is dog-eared. The only quiet moment of the day, being third in line for the drive-thru cheeseburger. In the middle of the argument, even his stomach growls. The “back in five minutes” note has been on his office door for about three hours now. Stuck in the breakdown lane, she finally started to understand her life.
