Manic prayer knees wit the oats throat o' milk stable full a stars old, gran'ma old, straw man be givin’ me bad stares wit the cigarette dark eye ballin’ fridge be growlin’ apartment for sure be gone for good what the hell we be doin’ here be sniffin’, blowin’ smoke, snortin’ be enterin’ the bulb-less, be cuttin’, we be extinguishin’ be feelin’ tectonic snares,  could cede tall trunks I be sayin’: Kill Murder be lookin’ good On the resume Of the good But bad ones, I'll be watchin’ out ——— Layo Mussi is a writer living in rural England, on the outskirts of a foreign King. He recently released his first poetry book 'Bitch Ass/Cruise Control' with Progress Print. Find his writing at https://dakingoblackmail.blogspot.com/.  

Dane: A Very Short Introduction by D. Beveridge No way can I retell how the map has haunted me. It was left behind by my brother, D. Beveridge, the contents of which are superfluous, there’s no stuff that gives the map any motion in terms of sense-data. So qu'est-ce c'est ? Well. It’s really something other than a map, strictly speaking, and I’m calling it such by way of a theoretical convention, as I was inspired today by an account of how Stevenson wrote  Treasure Island based on a map he drew beforehand, and because I’ve been sitting on this untold material about my brother for a long, long time and need help getting it out. That being said, the contested status of cartography, currently, I think, allows for a bit of play on what constitutes a map anyways. So it’s not a totally dismissible conceit, and I’ve decided, just now, to stand on it. On one reading it’s a map of his particular brand of rationalism, the one that led to the ethereal suggestions visited upon him from s...

G.K. by J.K. Sprats are really not the point of this text. That said, one sprat is in a coma. It lies on its side in a narrow bed of oil. Silver flank exposed. Mouth parted slightly. No eyelids. The machines beside it blink faithfully. A thin tube enters its mouth. The oil hums. My family stands around the tin. Someone whispers as if the sprat might hear. Someone says it still looks warm. Someone touches a scale. Our faces hover above the metal rim like moons. We stand around it like fishermen who have forgotten their boats. We start swearing almost immediately. Arguing about depth, about tide, about nothing. One of us claims the sprat twitched. For a moment the sprat is not a sprat. Once married. Once undone in a way that left visible wounds. A real-life human being, if you'd believe it. He lifts up an amber glass as if acknowledging the horizon far beyond the tin. Precious liquid warms his throat. The sprat-who-is-not-a-sprat watches the light recede, as if something in him were ...

Bled Dry I dont see my dancing man when I gaze upon the stars the world looks back to me begging for a fresh start don't go swim in my oceans don't pollute my air I've bled myself out dry for the love of every man ——— Last Call i don’t know love without possession  a place to rest my head tender and quiet lay me down i have tasted plastic flesh i have tended wounds untold  free are the wretched it’s my sin ——— Anna Klinger is a barista from Richmond, VA. They write poems and songs sometimes. 

Daddy issues Gloryhole How to make Hollandaise sauce Celluloid Paranoid How to answer missed calls How to escape DNA Luck Death Am I experiencing burnout? Chickpea curry soup Percocet misuse Ice Molly MDMA Fentanyl 3-MMC Hippie crack Wellness What is kombucha What is gochujang What exactly is miso Healing process tuto Self-esteem Self-awareness Self-help Selfcore Self-empowerment How does a whasher work How Where to turn for guidance instead of chatgpt Post-irony Château Marmont virtual tour Nepotism in Hollywood list Nicolas Cage Sofia Coppola Paris E Unibus Pluram Is David Foster Wallace cancelled Feedback loop Is new sincerity bullshit ‘Massive’ with a strong British accent Greta Garbo syndrome Dimples of Venus Low-rise pants Tramp stamp Are the 2000s back? Good printer Paris Good printer Paris for cheap Meta policy The divine phallus Fascinum Fascism Far-right America Chemsex What’s the point of trickle-down economics Chemtrails Chatgp Chinese room argument AI mysticism Mind-body d...

Discussion [Mufasa] rambling down the bank, i set my pace to the speed at which you drift there in the water— i do this to prolong our discussion. ——— Spirit Chimes We’re here for what’s beneath my feet. Raw, extreme. We’re in Portland, Oregon. You grew up here. I know you’re from here. Is it weird being here now? It is—now I know about all the hauntings here. We need to know what went on down here. These were sailors, loggers, cowboys, sheepherders, transients, not residents. The captain softened the transients with liquor or drugs. [ An innocent night out turns into a nightmare in the blink of an eye .] This was called a deadfall. Down the trap door, hauled off to a cell. These are like bones. These are like human remains. More knock-out drops and they bring you to a ship. You’re safe. I’m sure a lot of them sobered up and tried fighting back. I’m sure a lot were tortured, beaten, killed down here. The objective wasn’t to kill them but people did die. There is an aggressive energy ...