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FEATURED FICTION <expose, rant, explore>

By Hertzan Chimera

Actually, Arraz Woman had 'performance anxiety'. Not the usual sort of performance anxiety, nothing sexual there. Nothing purely analysable, you understand. Just something quite spectacularly wrong would happen when the need to do her best in front of a living audience that reared its ugly head.

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NEW FICTION <expose, rant, explore>

[ ROMI- A KICK IN THE HEAD ]

Ken tongue kissed Jeffrey and got a bruise in the head from Romi. The night couldn't've been better. The only concern Ken had whether Jeffrey's hepatitis had cleared up.

[SELF SYMPATHY BLEEDS INTO THE WRITING OF THE IGNORANT ]

After he swallowed the paper he wondered if the ink would corrode in his stomach during the night. Maybe I'll die from it he thought. The thought comforted him, boy oh boy...

[ SUICIDE ANGELS PART 1 ]

I look around and I see very few great minds. I see hollow eyes and plastic faces, forced smiles, masks of happiness in vapid friendships and heart-raping relationships- fuck him or he won’t pretend he loves you. I see a generation, this generation, we’re stuck in with the masses, so caught up and absorbed in image, beauty, in anorexia, fake tans, fake tits, popularity, in expensive clothes, bench-press, and the right hair-cut.

[ A SHODDY RECIPE FOR A REVOLUTION OF THE MIND ]

As liquid dreams, dripping hope, disperse in the fucking mud and shit of a society so decayed and fake, rotting from the raging inside out, to the fake pop star smile of America losing its soul with every gunshot pop thru the halls of the school of social dysfunction that America has adopted in place of knowledge.

[ SYMBIOSIS ]

It had been dark and foggy outside for as long as I could remember, or so it seemed. This day was much of the same. I had been here before, to this little shop, full of everything you could ever imagine, everything you ever needed, or so I had been told.

[ ODES TO DEATH, DECAY, ETERNAL CONFLICT AND THE EXALTATION OF THE QUEST FOR THE DREAM, AMERICAN OR OTHERWISE ]

As quickly as I drank the water, my body consumed it and sweated it upon my brow. My eyes were like slits, lids heavy with salty glistening. I wiped my forearm across my brow in an almighty effort and it came back soaking. My legs felt dead, impossible weights against which I was too feeble to strain. My brain throbbed in the moon’s evening heat.

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POETRY <word’s magic spell>

[ THE AIDAN BAKER COLLECTION ]

Keep an eye out for me for my fingers for my hands to play with to roll betwixt my tongue the taste of your sight of your bird'seyeview

[ MATHEMATICS ]

Implosion, the deadliest plan we can’t understand, swallowing poison to identify ourselves in the moonlight

[ SIXTY NINE ]

Blinded by his afro-tastic Fantastic, I missed his dimple

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SLINKSTER RECOMMENDS <where to now?>

[ PAUL PINN.COM ]

Take horror and sex, mix in some minty blue and smoked pork, add alien thoughts and a bucket of grit, and what have you got? The official website of unique British writer Paul Pinn, co-collaborator on the Porn Train piece in this month’s issue. Author of two novels and a collection of short stories, with another due soon, he dwells on the darker, meatier, sexier side of psychological thrillers, dark fantasy and horror. The website features extracts from his novels, short stories, sex, an interview, verse, a full bibliography plus bizarre photos from the Siriraj Hospital Forensic Museum in Bangkok.

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