Wreginslag: The Magic Castle
By Tony LongShanks LeTigre

Chapter One

Razel-An & Zeffidar decided to take a walk through the woods one day rather than going straight home. It was still morning & the fog wrapped the land in thick wool, so dense that you couldn’t see more than a few feet in any direction.

“I love it when the fog is like this,” said Zeff. “Let’s take a little wonderhike & see what we find.”

Raz was game, so he hoisted his little sister onto his shoulders piggyback style.

They passed through the woods, where birds called to one another in the treetops, seemingly engaged in an intricate symphony, a choir of many voices singing to one another in an unknown language of melody & pattern. They had only explored the fringes of these woods before, but today they went farther. The belt of trees proved to be quite narrow, rather than going on for endless miles as they’d imagined. They broke through & came to what appeared a defunct quarry, where Zeff let Raz down from his shoulders.

“What’s this?” she said, examining a large, unusually round rock near the edge of the quarry.

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Welcome, readers, to July’s issue of Synchronized Chaos Magazine. This time we’re looking at Perspective. How we see a single creature within the rest of the environment, or exploring common themes from different angles.

Returning poet Dave Douglas points out that Western society’s modern focus on individualism is not a constant or usual part of our human history.  The concept of individual identity, self expression, value, empowerment and purchasing power, which we now see reinforced through our cultural media and marketing messages, is an artifact of particular times and places and comes with advantages and disadvantages. Douglas critiques the shallow consumerism that he sees as coming out of a culture where people assert their identity through buying the latest personal electronics products.

Returning essayist Donal Mahoney advises young writers that not all have to emulate famous authors such as Charles Bukowski, who made a name for himself as much from his outsized personality and rebellious behavior as from his writing. One can become distinguished as a writer by mastering one’s craft while remaining oneself. He also encourages writers to take rejection in stride, rather than as a personal affront.

Peter Jacob Streitz, another returning poet, offers up a set of pieces grappling with individual and cultural loss, change and evolution. Whether it’s the decimation of Native culture, widowhood, or our own mortality, our world is full of destruction, and not even our best efforts and prayers can always protect us.

Poet Natalie Crick also contributes a set of short pieces evoking natural and supernatural images of death and decay. Yet, her subjects have aesthetic grace even in their deterioration, which comes through in lyrical terms.

In her monthly Book Periscope column, Elizabeth Hughes reviews Courtney Killian’s Days of the Kill. This suspense novel centers on a young protagonist who tries and fails to escape the effects of her family’s mental dysfunction. Next, Hughes hones in on the intergenerational wisdom present in Richard Slota’s upcoming novel Stray Son, a tale of fatherhood, manhood, and war.

Returning contributor Jeff Rasley’s new book Hero’s Journey explores the psychology and cost of setting up real people as heroes. In his excerpt, he reminisces about a boyhood friend whose real life started out similar to that of their shared fictional sports hero, Chip Hilton. When reality intervened, and his friend proved imperfect, Rasley began a thoughtful exploration of the meaning of bravery and honor, not just in sports but in different realms of life.

Returning contributor Christopher Bernard reviews San Francisco’s FoolsFury theater festival, discussing various attempts at rendering disparate content through physical performance. Existential literature transmutes into circus acts, the suffering of refugees comes through onstage through faux lectures at an imaginary border, and Japanese folktales take shape as large ensemble casts teeter between realism and fancy.

Finally, returning poet Joan Beebe contributes an innocent and slightly whimsical poem about cottonwood seeds. Still, she’s got a unique perspective here: she’s not praising the seeds’ beauty, she’s cursing them for getting stuck in her window screens and blocking her view of nature.

Here’s hoping everyone enjoys this issue.

More on the cottonwood tree here.

The Novelty of i

The novelty of i
The latest smart phone
Absent of why
Just follow the drone

The novelty of reason
Without reply
What’s still in season?
The novelty of i

i am the app
Consolation
i am the map
Destination

Text of interest
i may respond
i am the loudest
“Like” to correspond

i am the Like
Emotion
i am the psyche
Devotion

i am the spotlight
Conversation
i am the limelight
Celebration

The novelty of i
Promenade –
Receipt of a sigh
Masquerade

The stage of sound
The novelty of sky –
The ceiling of ground
The novelty of i?

The novelty of i!
The novelty of – i
The novelty – of – i
The – novelty – of – i

The soundboard
Into a lone echo
Unexplored –
The novelty is hollow

Absolute ironclad
A fool to vilify
i am my own fad
The novelty of I

Sounds of new
Thoughts from you
Grasping two
And then a few …

For You

This month her depression began.
He obsessed her.
She tied her heart with ribbon like a present,
Licking his fingers and kissing his feet.

Words failed her.
She breathed him in like a terrible secret,
A childless woman beneath the ivory moon.
But what about his eyes, his eyes, his eyes.

Walking in the Winter trees
Were his shadows in the fog.
He was innocent as a lamb.
Sleep, my Angel,

Deaf and dumb
As the drugged summer sun.
My Love,
I want you.

This Dark Thing

This dark thing that sleeps in me,
It steals from me so I am left with nothing.
I am blameless, Godiva.
The murmurings are alive.
Watching you dully from my bed
I have taken the pill to kill.
I mourn my own death,
Drowning into the night.
My tears could devour
The ocean. I want, I want.
I have lost myself. But that is not enough.

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