(Peg-leg) Frida

“They thought I was a surrealist
but I wasn’t. I painted my own reality.”

Self-Portrait in a Velvet Dress
With Necklace
With hair loose
With monkeys
With necklace of thorns
On the borderline between Mexico and U.S.
Portrait of Luther Burbank as hybrid: half man, half tree
Henry Ford Hospital or The Flying Bed: The Miscarriage
My birth
I suckle
Memory 
or the Heart
The Two Fridas with Cropped Hair
The Dream
or the Bed
Self-Portrait with Braid
Thinking about Death
Me and My Parents
Thinking of Diego
The Broken Column
Without Hope
The Wounded Deer
Nucleus of Creation
Flower of Life
The Last Embrace of the Universe
Marxism Will Give Health to the Sick
Death is a Friend
	
 
Remedio Varo: The Mexican Years: Reversed

Phenomenon of Weightlessness
Still Life Reviving
Spiral Transit
The Arid Path
Vegetable Architecture
Vegetarian Vampires
Phenomenon
Unsubmissive Plant
Embroidering the Earth’s Mantle
Woman Leaving the Psychoanalyst
To Be Reborn
Ascension to Mount Analogue
Disturbing Prescence
Mimesis
Encounter
Hairy Locomotion
(for a) Cancer Ward (the mural)
Farewell
Celestial Pablum
Creation of Birds
Vegetable Cathedral
Magical Flight
Star Catcher
Magical Flight
Star Catcher
Three Destinies
Discovering
Useless Science (The Alchemist)
Solar Music
Weaving of Time and Space
 
Extreme Art Material: Memorial Art Gallery (2006)

Particulate Matter (smog) on porcelain plate with gold enamel
Garden hose, nylon cable ties and steel
Carrot Wheel: carrots
Plaster, pigment, shipping tags and SUV exhaust
The Ruin: U.S. five-dollar bill erased
Colors in Water: Superior: recycled metal zippers
Found Portraits from the Cambodian Killing Fields of Tuoi Sleng
Small Island: Smoke on silver plated tray
Natatorium Cactus: Swimming pool cover and cable ties
Untitled: Pencil shavings
Treasure Map: found drug bags and thread (Philadelphia)
Metamorphosis: Human hair and glue
Allergy Series: Polyurethane and dog hair, Polyurethane and 
contents of vacuum bag
Untitled: Polyurethane and toilet paper, polyurethane and
	Cigarette butts, epoxy, and dryer lint
Topographic Solution: Fish skins, fishing line, pigment, and steel
Geography of Thought: Pennies and wire
I Wonder: Orange peel and waxed linen thread
Eggshells mixed with resin
Peach pits mixed with resin
Twister: Bones, glue, sealants, glass, and silver
Untitled: Hair and glue on canvas
Untitled: Duck Sauce packets
Untitled: Blood, gold leaf, resin, and clay on board
After Vermeer: 4,669 spools of thread, clear vinyl tubing, aluminum
	hanging apparatus, 4-inch clear acrylic sphere and steel stand
There’s No Comfort in the Truth: Recycled cassette tape
Gravity’s Rainbow: Paper collage, pills, hemp leaves, acrylic and
	resin on wood

 
Eccentric Lives and Peculiar Notions Scrambled

Charles and Marjory Johnson, Lancaster, CA, the last stubborn,
	flat earth doctrine defenders
Describing the community that dwelt within the earth
Miss Bevan as Nesta Webster author of spine-chilling accounts
	Of hidden forces beneath the surface of history
The Christ Conspiracy: The Greatest Story Never Told
Path  of the Pole: Cataclysmic Poles Shifting Alters Geology
Mind Control =World Control
The Bridge to Infinity
Liquid Conspiracy: Truth behind the acronyms: JFK, LSD,
	CIA, Area 51, and UFO’s
The Man Who Got Letters from Statues
Stones of the Temple of the Dragon erected by Welsh Druid
	revivalists
Lost Continents and Hollow Earth
Other Findings of Revisionist Geographer
Extraterrestrial Archaeology
Worlds in Collision
Occult Ether Physics
People with Holes in Their Heads
The Lost Teaching of Atlantic
Atlantis the Antediluvian World
Architects of the Underworld
Men and Gods in Mongolia
Photographs of “flying saucers around the mother ship”
The Ant-gravity Handbook
NASA, Nazis, and JFK
The Harmonic Conquest of Space
The Purpose, Intent and Overview of Extraterrestrial Visitations
Somewhere in the Night
The Fallen Sky
The Bomb that Fell on America

 
The Many Lives of Lee Miller (abridged)

As model
Nude studies as a full developed teenager by her father
Work as a fashion designer
Controversial Model for first Kotex Ad
Solarized by Man Ray
Her Work as a Photographer
As a subject of Surrealists
As a Surrealist
Man Ray’s Nude Bent Forward was Lee
The shadow pattern on her torso by Man Ray
Breakfasting in bed reading with Tanja Ramm beneath a wall 
	hanging by Cocteau
The lips for Man Ray’s iconic The Lovers
Portrait Photographer of Gertrude Lawerence
Josephy Cornell superimposed with ne of his many objects
Sel-Portrait as Fashionista
Married in Egypt shooting frame from the top of Great Pyramid
Her Portrait of Space inspiration for Magritte’s, La Baiser
The Picasso Abstract Portrait of Lee
Literally charming snakes in Egypt 1938
Her suggestive (erect) Cock Rock (formation)
Duty calls as a War Correspondent in Europe
Glum Glory in her uniform off to document the war
Posed at the entrance of an Air raid shelter with mask, eye shield 
	and air raid danger warning whistle
A “non-conformist chapel” as rubble
Bombed out, “Bridge of Sighs” London
Shattered roof of University College reflected in pool of rainwater
Henry Moore in a suit sketching in Holborn underground station
	While Londoners huddle beneath blankets trying to sleep
Emergency field surgery, Normandy
Lee in uniform in Picasso’s liberated studio, Paris
Colette, Aged 71, embroidering in her apartment
Moroccan troops outfitted for winter in snow, Alsace
Dead soldier, “There is a good German. He is dead!”
Suicide daughter of Burgermeister, Leipzig reclining on a couch
Statues covered by camouflaged nets make a landscape like a 
	Painting by Yves Tanguy, Germany 1945
Among the first to enter the camps: Dachau dead, 1945
Lee bathing in Hitler’s bathtub, Munich 1945
Lee dressed as Marcel Duchamp’s Mona Lisa at a party c)1954
After she died her son found trunks of her work stored in the attic,
He had no idea she had been a photographer

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
your dead father must be proud
 

flick a booger

across the room

 

somewhere in hell

your dead father

must be proud

 

i still catch a

glimpse of him

when i look in

the mirror or

i can hear him

when i start to

laugh at times

 

it takes everything

i have to not punch

glass or slit my throat

 

not every crisis

can be solved

with just a few

deep breaths

 

i have learned

over the years

 

a glass of something

strong and a woman

willing to put her heels

into the pit of your soul

 

can do the trick every

time
---------------------------------------------------------------------
a few years at least
 

trying not to stare

at this beautiful

black woman

with curves in

all the right

places

 

i have a little

time left before

i am truly a

dirty old man
----------------------------------------------------------------
an overpass down by the river
 
i am not looking

forward to dying

alone

 

but the odds aren't

in my favor of that

ever changing

 

i figure i might have

a few twists and turns

in the works,

 

but knowing my luck

 

that will include dirty

cardboard and living

under an overpass

down by the river

 

i'm probably a few

years away from

being a springsteen

song
---------------------------------------------------------------
where even the animals
 

you'd cry yourself

to sleep if you could

only find the tears

 

broken,

discarded

 

a blues song in a

gutter where even

the animals don't

dare to piss

 

she was this drop

dead beauty

 

soft, angelic skin

 

a laugh that immediately

made you feel safe

 

she'd kiss you like her

life depended on it

 

as usual in this too

busy fucking world

 

you lose touch

 

days become months

 

and one day you feel

the urge to check the

obituaries

 

caught dancing with

a train

 

holes in the carpet

 

tomorrow makes

no sense
---------------------------------------------------------------
agony says i love you
 

think of the pain

as a hug from an

old lover

 

she brushes her hand

across your jeans and

your heart begins to

flutter

 

of course,

 

the pain is never

like that

 

a large knife driven

into your soul, twisted

until agony says i love

you

 

they tell me i have

a high pain tolerance

 

not sure what good

that does me anymore

 

i would pray for death

but i have been disappointed

enough already

 

break out the watercolors

 

put on some john coltrane

 

pretend the talent is still there

 

how does one paint out

a depression

 

shallow lines on cardboard

 

exhaustion hopefully will win



J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is old enough to know better. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at Horror Sleaze Trash, Mad Swirl, The Beatnik Cowboy, Disturb the Universe Magazine and The Rye Whiskey Review. His most recent chapbook, with Casey Renee Kiser, Altered States of The Unflinching Souls, is now out in the world. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

*WORLD OF SIGH* 

My life isn’t a misery, yet pain engluts my heart and sadness have my mind captive,

sympathy lenses my eyes

The screams of souls haunts my ears, yet I do follow in the chase not like hound but one that fills up the cry.

Soothing the wounded heart,

Yet screams of anguished souls crushed me in chains of darkness 

My eyes search for light,

Beguiling none of his tears,

For the distressful stroke of calamity 

That the land suffered, I gave their pain a world of sigh.

                   Borno

Welcome, autumn 

Spilled treasures are like riches,

They chase each other and meet on their way.

My eyes are happy with your golden color,

Welcome to my beloved country, autumn.

Someone is waiting for you

But sometimes he gets worried.

Believe me, everything I say is true.

Welcome to my beloved country, autumn.

On the day of the holiday, the hearts will explode,

My head is blue with joyous laughter.

You came, my face smiled,

Welcome to my beloved country, autumn!

Ilhomova Mohichehra is an 8th grade student.

Today is different 

The day starts with a new hope

Once mind caged in the deepest loop,

Heart failed to beat anymore,

Life lost the rhythms of lovely slope.

Today is different 

Oh! Dear!

Listen,

Today is different…

The tune comes from so far

Mind wakes up and fights to achieve the dreamy kite,

Hearts hears and bears its love

Now it is the time to stand up.

Today is your turn 

Can’t you see?

Oh dear!

Pls try to recover your sense.

Gradually stand up on the ground

Upper the blackish cloud

Pond of happiness is not here

Waves of dream…calling, dear!!!

Today is different 

You can make your choice

You can make your day

Just believe yourself, my dearest friend!

FEAR,JUST, SHOOTING!

BLOOD ON THE ROAD,NO MORE.

FIGHT FOR YOUR RIGHT 

BE THE BRAVE, YOU HAVE SPIRITUAL PPWER.

Wow!

Really?

I can’t believe. 

Can I make this possible?

I don’t want to see any blood.

I don’t want to cry anymore. 

I don’t want to kill any heart.

I want to see only mankind’s shower.

This is our lives 

This is our earth 

We have to live happily with all

We have to love ourselves, my dear!

S. Afrose of Bangladesh

Just AN Unhinged Lunatic Howling AT THE Moon

On a moonlit late-night
I sat in the Cosmos Bar

In Soi Cowboy

Drinking drams of demented, fermented dream dew

With one scotch, and one bourbon. and one beer

To chase it all down.

Twenty drinks too sober.

Just an unhinged lunatic
Dreaming of howling

at the super full moon.

Watching the world walk by
Looking at all the fine-looking babes
Walking by the street
Thinking wild, erotic thoughts
Of endless wild libertine passions.

When into the bar
Walked the most beautiful women
In the Universe.
So wild, so free
So wonderfully alive.

I did not know what to do
As this carnal, deprave

lustful vision of delight

Sauntered through the bar
In a skin-tight leather pants

Looked so fine
That my eyeballs hurt

And finally

 I had to say something
So I gathered up

My manly courage

And walked up to her
And she looked at me

And instantly

Bewitched my soul
Mesmerizing me

With a devilish grin.

I lost all reason
And became a raving lunatic
Unhinged lunatic
Howling at the moon.

Foaming at the mouth
A wild, free werewolf
Howling at the lunatic light
Of the full Moon

Writers on Writers

Dorothy Parker on the Algonquin Round Table
(1919-1929)

You can lead a horticulture
but you can’t make her think.

So quick with the wit
I wrote little poems
satirizing rich matrons
their banalities, bigotries
and Vogue published me
and hired me
editorial assistant
then staff writer
at Vanity Fair
a magazine
of no opinions
while I
had plenty.

I was a tough critic
a real New York wag
like one of the boys
at the big round table
at the Algonquin Hotel
in the speakeasy days
cracking lines about booze
and dries who didn’t drink
from our flasks we jousted
with our pointed repartee
our competition cutthroat.

Brevity is the soul of lingerie.

The word got around
about the wonks at the Gonk
in the Rose Room for hours
our antics soon fodder
for newspaper columnists
in our little group that grew
and grew larger
sometimes fifteen,
sixteen hangers-on
all woozy afternoon.

We dubbed ourselves
the Vicious Circle
during the terrible days
of wisecracks, cuts
deeper, more bloody
we went for the jugular
for public attention
however we could grab it
Tallulah, Harpo Marx
New York Times writers
New Yorker founders
cynics, comics, all of us
sophisticated, cruel.

Men seldom make passes
At girls who wear glasses

I lived on the second floor
came down to join in
raising hell every day
nothing else mattered
but jazz clubs and brothels
Haig & Haig and bathtub
gin under the table
pharmacies floating
on a sea of booze.

A hangover is
the wrath of grapes.

Lured away we fled west
stampeding the studios
to work on the talkies
the roaring twenties dying
with a whimper, not a bang.

Carson McCullers

I was born a man

Lula Carson Smith
in the silent crazy jungle
floral lush greenery
a middle class family
jeweler father slouchy
devoted mother, siblings
in a textile town with mills
a base, soldiers, Jim Crow
suffering, loneliness, poverty.

Repairing watches and clocks
popular in the Depression
Father bought us a house
camellias, tall holly
outside the window where
I practiced piano
music the foundation
until I abandoned it
turned to the typewriter
stories the new medium
of self-expression, art.

I was born a man

so changed my name
to match my real self
a lanky colt with
a Peter Pan quality
wild ideas and energy
until illness hit
when I was 15
and again, and again
the trickery and terror of time

as I later learned
rheumatic heart disease
damaged my poor heart.

Elizabeth Bishop on Her “Friends”

My life was one
of words and whiskey
deep contemplation
keen observation
of nature, people
farmers and factory workers
fishermen, fish, the Amazon
jungle, the beach
lovers, birds, moose
all around me life—
difficult, full of joy.

I was born to wealth
New England bluenose
world of privilege

until my father died
I was 8 months old
my mother unraveling
chronic psychosis, unfit
left me with her parents
in a Nova Scotia village
where I grew up happy
running around barefoot
taking the cow to pasture
past gabled wood houses
low hills, tall elms, leaning
willows and kind villagers
we all sang hymns
at the church picnics

until my father’s parents
horrified by my wildness
took me back to Mass
to their cold city manse
where Uncle Jack teased
where I coughed and coughed
until they sent me
to breathe ocean air
with dear Aunt Maud
and I read and read
in my little sickbed
and I fell in love
with the Victorian poets.

Maud’s husband a sadist
abused us, hit, groped
at an early age
I learned about men
who would hurt you
if you let them—
after that
I never did.

I played the piano
swam and sailed
in the long summers
I visited Nova Scotia
until boarding school
Vassar and a life
of whiskey and words

and women lovers
I always called “friends.”

Elizabeth Bishop on Her Thirst

I was a baby in a crib
on the bay at Marblehead Neck
when the Great Salem Fire
brought in the boats
frightened survivors
a red sky, intense heat.

Awake, alone, afraid
I cried out for mother
thirsty and scared
but she did not come
I could see out the window
she stood in the front yard
white dress rosy from fire
billowing in the heat
serving coffee and food
to thousands left homeless
one thousand were dead.

Alone, awake, afraid
all night I called out
thirsty and scared
but nobody came.

I grew up without her
drinking and drinking
whiskey straight to oblivion
for the rest of my life
I drank and I drank
it was never enough
still thirsty, afraid
and alone.