Lit of the Week Winners:
Aconitum-Napellus adalaine almcdermid andrewpom angeljunkie Avallynh AzizrianDaoXrak backbones vellusz beeinthebottle BeyondJen Blacksand459 bowie-loon123 brassteeth colbalt-rain CrumpetsHarvey CupofCharlie DearPoetry disrhythmic doughboycafe Drunken-Splice emilyericson EternalSunday Fleeting-Epiphany FuzzyHoser glossolalias gogocherryrose GothKoala439 gummyrabbit ingle-nook intricately-ordinary iPawed IyraEMM jade-pandora jswebb Judah-Leonardo QuiEstInLiteris KaitForest KeanuWantRoomService LaBruyere LiliWrites lizilicious lluviosa MattVoscinar momo-madness mystichuntress nawkaman neuroticmnemonic Nichrysalis Obsidian-Nightfall ohmistermagazine oracle-of-nonsense orphicfiddler Nichrysalis Phu-Phu-Hugs-Me pomohippie7 pseudometry Psyghostis QuiEstInLiteris Raaawrli RainyhawaiiV2 reflectionsinwater RestlessSands riparii RiseandBe rlkirkland Rosary0fSighs RussianTim ryante devsaartha: saevuswinds Sammur-amat Scarlettletters SilverInkblot ssensory starell That-Writer-Kid TheGlassIris TheGreatSpyExperim LeftUnfinished tonepainter toxic-nebulae travelgirlxx trembling-knees TristanCody Venry VicariouSoul Vigilo WetKakashi whatpumpkins winterkate witwitch your-methamphetamine ingle-nook zebrazebrazebra
Let's Never Meet Featured Writers:
never mindI guess it’s kind of funny, if you think about it. You always see in the movies – in the TV shows – people running and screaming and praying and stuff. That’s what Hollywood always thought it would be like. Some sort of ‘death cloud’ or something – or like an asteroid or something like that – that just happened: that just totally hit everybody by surprise.never mind by andrewpom
People have known about it for months. It’s not like in the movies. The word ‘inevitability’ comes to mind: and hey, guess what? Nobody cares to run from the inevitable. It’s pretty stupid – isn’t it, if you think about it – how people, in the movies, try to run from inevitable death. Everybody has decided what they were gonna do today weeks ago, maybe even months ago. Say goodbye to family, spend time with girlfriend, et cetera et cetera. As with the Kubler-Ross effect – or whatever it's called – p
Creepy-Crawl.When it rains, the snail comes.Creepy-Crawl. by Kurt-Jarram
And he tells unto me
all his gastropedal tales
from moss and rotted leaves.
He speaks of insect friendships
and also enemies.
“Beware,” he says “the centipede
and other vicious bugs
Beware” he says “Our cousins
Beware the shell-less slugs.”
“Be kind.” he says “And please leave
no salt on the kitchen floor
and, oh, would you please remove
those pellets from near the door.”
“My helix friend,” I say to him “Your words are truly wise.
A way for us to live in peace
I'm sure we can devise.
You, the noblest of bugs, who can neither bite nor sting.
I do declare your shell to be
the palace of a crawling king.”
When it's dark, the spider comes
and whispers in my ear.
How she, the arachnid garden queen
is hardly a thing to fear.
“Let me live,” she says “within your house's darkened halls
and silver tapestries I'll spin
to hang on every wall.”
She says “
Hey, Jealousyeyes cloud overHey, Jealousy by Cionie
and alcohol makes
what isn't "fair"
and a location shift
all is forgotten
the next morning
for fear of embarrassment
just a loosely titled "friendship"
swept under the rug
Pentecostal SweetheartSin once,Pentecostal Sweetheart by RussianTim
so the shame is on me.
Okay…and the eggs were a little runny.
But it’s time to go,
like the other guy said.
When I was twelve,
I went into my aunt’s attic
and put on her old dresses.
How many people talk about drowning
in a mirror like it’s quicksand?
Centuries ago, the ocean was a kenning.
Your body means nothing to me without the head.
That was the longest line, and desperate gardens
grow at a pubic rate. Being fingered by a boy
who played the guitar. Only I know your story.
Only I can make this verse thin
like your waist towards the end.
Supplement a greedy hard-on
with a voice that said “I want you happy”.
Replace an ending with a confession.
As the sweat dripped off your bones,
just for reference, I thought myself a man.
and the third time meant calling my father.
Oh, for what I’ve done, they’ll have my tongue.
What We Eat to SurviveAlone, the air starts smelling likeWhat We Eat to Survive by RussianTim
scrambled eggs and a rat that
died in the wall. Mayflower sons,
Puritan daughters, that kind of lineage.
Alone, their thoughts detach from mildewed
ceilings. Crashed and peering under doors
with lurching frames, someone speaks.
Until. But nothing ever opens.
Alone, one voice in particular, and the train
across town interrupts it. One in particular,
murmurs an old song about the leagues of
suffering that half a century can bring.
Alone, and the first thing he sees are his father’s bones.
What we eat to survive. Cast iron shadows,
a fishing rod in the corner, sister’s torn prom dress.
What we eat to survive.
watch me write poems from dustalthough i am a barren creator-watch me write poems from dust by sylveda
my insides composed of wilting gardens, browning daisy petals
although i have no seeds to sprinkle and sow,
i am oxygen's daughter.
my feet rooted firmly in galactic soot.
watch me evolve from nonexistence
watch me maneuver my being into
nothing less than pure
watch me assemble myself from entropy
pick up all the scattered pieces
and bond myself together;
(hydrogen is not a bond, but an intermolecular force, you say)
and i agree.
i create from nothing more than pure force--
i am a mother of thoughts once born
in dust, but oh,
just watch me rise.
Yes Virginia, There is an Infidelity ClauseBy myself and slightly drunk on hill whiskey,Yes Virginia, There is an Infidelity Clause by RussianTim
I slither through the meadows of your memory,
and imagine you as a spore on the breeze.
Quickly sober, my limbs acclimate to the truth, with
or without me. Knowing that somewhere, not far enough away,
you are spread over the pages of another man’s story.
Maybe I’m the chicken hawk floating over,
forced to look for home while watching a
calloused pair of hands explore the body I picked clean.
Birds of prey are born to mistake the tang of carrion
for the nostalgia of flesh. And like Winter told Wolfe,
“you can’t go home again”, but you still have to try.
Maybe I’m the one who has wasted their life.
Most of my memories are bootlegged scenes:
the smell of a solar eclipse, hot breath and sticky sheets,
blood dripping from my lips and pooling in her navel,
moths drowning in plastic cups while I crash my car in the rain.
(At the very least, it’s nothing sexual)
The taste of flesh fills my mouth. I pretend
Root VegetablesMy biological mother’s name is Anna and my father is Peter. They met in high school when she was sixteen. He was her first kiss, I think. I’m not sure if she was his. At the time of my conception, they had known each other for two years. I don’t know why he was home from college in the middle of a semester, but I imagine that my mother was the light in the dark depths of February, I imagine it had something to do with her her thick curls, her hazel eyes, her tender mouth shaped just like mine, here. I imagine it was her laugh that he loved the most.Root Vegetables by bangingonkeyboards
My mother did not laugh when I came into this world and into her hands. She held me for seven long days with tears down her cheeks, her hands still and paralyzed with the weight of the decision before her. She loved me so much, I know. But at eighteen she wrestled with depression and anxiety that vined around her and settled stones into her belly where I had once grown. At eighteen, she held a child in child’s hands.
The Poet and The Philosopher“Am I real?”The Poet and The Philosopher by AyeAye12
“That’s a grand question.”
“And valid, considering the circumstances.”
“What’s your answer?”
“I thought you were the Philosopher here.”
“Are we not entwined?”
“Not necessarily. Unless that’s your answer?”
The restaurant was like the dress from a Klimt painting, stretching down for opulent floor after opulent floor. Sideway marble pillars stretched like a hand, into perfect fractals and then perfect foundation, in which walls of gold leaf and semi-precious mosaics curved into a domed cylinder. The dome itself was made of crystal, and the night sky above showed the light of its infinite stars shimmering, forever.
The crowning features of this restaurant (not named yet) were the colossal chandeliers, hanging from a massive screw in the centre of the dome above. Thousands of bulbs glowed like white-hot eggs, lining the sloping arches and curves of each ornament, before
The First Time I Saw Him Part 2‘I wanna fall in love, but all my tears have been used up on another love’The First Time I Saw Him Part 2 by CupofCharlie
- Tom Odell.
Despite the fact that I still felt ridiculously embarrassed, his words proved to be very reassuring and made me feel a lot less self-conscious. I felt very thankful toward him for that. My cheeks began to soften in colour; not quite the violent scarlet they had initially turned. I still felt slightly flushed, though I couldn’t quite explain why. When he attempted to keep the conversation going by asking my name, I couldn’t help but feel suddenly shy. I wasn’t sure whether he was just being polite or if he was genuinely interested in me. The thought that he might be interested caused my stomach to flutter ever so subtly. His mannerisms were all very laid back and casual – nonchalantly slipping his hand into his pocket for instance – but I couldn’t shrug off the feeling that perhaps he was trying to play it cool.
I cleared my throat before
Residence (Sample)I'm turning my Milo series into a full book. I'm aiming for around 100,000 words. This extract actually scared my mother which I see as a triumph. This is a rough draft and nowhere near the finished product so don't be too harsh. What do you think? I would love to know.Residence (Sample) by Kurt-Jarram
The room was lit by two bulbs with a purple, crepe-paper shades but what caught Milo's attention the most were the windows. There were no curtains, instead each pane was covered with a sari matching the colour of the shades. Where had he seen that before? He was sure that he had, a lingering memory that brought with it not only recollection of sight, but also smell, sound and sensation.
“So here we are.”
The voice rattled Milo from his pondering over the saris. He'd been so taken aback by them that he hadn't even noticed the room's occupants. Though now, as his eyes adjusted to the somewhat psychedelic purple of his surroundings, he saw three figures looking intently at him. Two women and one man. The women
Storm Music They say when I was first laid in my mother's arms, she gave me back to the nurse and said, "No. This is not a child of mine."Storm Music by xlntwtch
My father is the "they" I mean, the only one I heard tell that story. I guess he figured she meant it, because right away he took me as far from the Zuni reservation and my mother as we could get.
I don't remember being a little baby. I mean, who does? But I know my father drove his old car, with him and me and supplies, for miles and miles and miles. I hated that car. And he talked a lot, my Dad. He'd say, "Hey, freak. We're gonna cross a state line again. Mark it on the map." Or, "Hey, ghost boy. I gotta stop here for a few days. I'll set you up in a motel."
When my father said "set you up in a motel," he meant he'd get some half-drunk Indian to watch me, or more likely, to watch TV. He always went somewhere else. Some of those Indians fed me and some didn't, just like my father. I mean, it's like when I
Afterlife Astronaut“There is no God.”Afterlife Astronaut by AyeAye12
“Well, you don’t know that for sure-“
“Bernard, as an AI connected to every philo-science document, every parabyte of knowledge in the Human Empire, every logic string going back to the days of the Past Colonists... I can assure you, there is no God. It has been proven.”
Bernard sighed. His helmet visor fogged up then disappeared.
“I’m not going to bother arguing with you. Soon that golden gate is going to open, and I will walk into the Kingdom of Heaven. That should be enough proof.”
The gate in question was a smooth sphere of gold, slowly rotating on an equally dull pedestal. Crystal red spires pointed at specific points on the globe.
“You just don’t want to argue with me because you are in fear of how wrong you are. And how right a computer can be.”
Jude deserved to be muted, but sass like that always kept her voice a ubiquitous presence in Bernard’s helmet. A blue flash in the top
Let's Never Meet Anthology
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Alright, this is a tad bit late, but it's finally here! I know you were all chomping at the bit to get down and discuss this entire book. Spoiler warning if you haven't read it!
Speaking of prizes, the winner from June's Book DOWN A DARK HALL, is vespera! Congratulations for being awesome! PinkyMcCoversong will contact you about the prizes soon!
This month our prize comes courtesy of St. Martin's/Thomas Dunne Books! Futuristic Violence and Fancy Suits by David Wong!
All you have to do to win is participate in the discussions in the middle and end of the month, reply to other people's comments, write reviews or fan fiction, draw fan art, or contribute to the activites! I'll be tallying up points and the person who contributes the most will win this month's prize!
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