the aging hipster

by Dan Leo

illustrations by penmarq studios

I am the aging hipster,  and everyone despises me. Yes, I’m just an aging hipster and everyone’s finally wise to me. It’s horrible to be old when you peaked at twenty-five, And I’ve no need to be told that no one cares if I’m alive. I only thank God for the internet For Facebook and for Youtube. I comment and chat all fucking day and yet To these brats I’m just a boring old boob. I’m thinking of making up a new Facebook account and pretending that I’m young and cool again; I’m tired of being called a superannuated cunt By every callow smart-ass hooligan. Don’t they know I once shook hands with Iggy, and even shot up once with Basquiat? And, yes, I even once got jiggly with Patti Smith when she was drunk at Max’s Kansas City. So why do I feel so shitty when I look in the mirror? I’d even settle for some pity, but the contempt could not be clearer in the eyes of the young fops in the bars and coffee shops; To them I’m barely visible,  and if I am at all I’m risible. I’m just an aging hipster with my moth-eaten black beret. I’m just an aging pathetic hipster. And, I know, I should just go away.

arthur

arthur was born in a little town under a pale and tired sky the fields were the color of the sun and the river was the color of the sky arthur had a long neck and his eyes were the color of the stones in the bed of the slowly moving river the windmills were red the pale red of the blood of the holy innocents arthur sat in the back of the schoolroom with the older children because of his long neck he saw farther than the other children his long eyes looked into those of the bugs crawling up his pants he heard music in their desperate scratchings and knew that everything was connected in a poem without words in a symphony without notes only colors there were animals in the colors animals that existed nowhere else arthur went for long walks along the river sometimes he heard shouting in the distance one day he met louis known as "the louse" louis had never been to school and poled a barge that carried passengers along the river mostly old women taking their pigs and chickens to market every pig and chicken had a different color and had its own story to tell arthur listened to them all until one day he saw a young woman walking along the river bank she had long hair the color of the story of king arthur and eyes the color of the story of joan of arc *** arthur did not care much for human stories preferring the stories of pigs and chickens and goats and cows which blended with the sky unlike the stories of humans which were solid like rocks or beetles or at best like clouds louis the louse pointed out the young woman to arthur and said "there goes genevieve" the next day arthur arrived late at the riverbank louis had already pushed the barge into the center of the river he waved to arthur and arthur waved back arthur walked along until he saw genevieve approach this time she was not alone but had a black dog with her the biggest dog arthur had ever seen the dog growled at arthur and genevieve passed him by without speaking or taking any notice of his existence arthur felt sadness for the first time he sat and watched the river flow one drop of water at a time each with its own color until the sun went down that night he slept in an abandoned barn and in the morning he left for paris

a strange dream

by anonymous

illustrated by konrad kraus

last night i had the strangest dream i dreamed i was forging balzac's signature on a letter to franz kafka i didn't have much time dupin was waiting in the next room with sherlock holmes i needed a quill not a ball point pen i found a fountain pen in the drawer of the old wooden desk it would have to do dupin just glanced at it when i gave it to him he and holmes were deep in discussion, muttering about something i could not understand them overcome with relief i walked down the dark street under the lamps in the fog the lights of a tavern beckoned i entered i settled in to a booth and ordered a foamy glass of dark ale from a rosy cheeked barmaid i thought my troubles were behind me but they had only begun four people were seated at a table behind mine. i could not help overhearing their conversation i looked behind me and recognized them as the distinguished novelist george meredith mister gladstone prince von bismarck, chancellor of the german empire and our beloved queen victoria to my horror i realized they were plotting a series of dreadful murders of unfortunate women who were reduced to walking the streets and selling that portion of themselves which no longer had any value their plan of attack was carefully coordinated each was to provide alibis for the others and the murders themselves were to be executed with a minute and unimaginable savagery i froze in my shadows would they realize i was overhearing them? with infinite care i rose from my seat leaving my glass of ale untouched not daring to look behind me i made for the door an eternity passed i could only make headway by swimming through the darkness at last i reached the door at last! as i entered the street a tall figure brushed past me on his way into the tavern it was sir edward burne-jones! i fairly flew through the streets when i reached my lodgings i saw a strange yellow light in in my third story window i opened the front door and careless of waking mrs foster the landlady i raced up the stairs the light beneath my door was a ghastly pink! i flung open the door and there hanging from the rafters casting a dark and swirling shadow over my overturned paint pots and scattered brushes was a dead man!

the peaceful village

by horace p sternwall

illustrated by roy dismas and konrad kraus

part one of two

once there was a peaceful village with no murder, rape or pillage everyone did honest labor and was friendly to their neighbor every door was opened wide so that folks could come inside all elders were respected no crime was ever detected they had no silver, jewels or gold but through the valley a river rolled bringing water to boundless crops that folks could eat until they dropped mom and dad got up at dawn and polly put the kettle on all day long they did their chores so that they were never bored grandmothers were round and wise and made excellent blueberry pies grandpa though his hair was grayed enjoyed his pipe beneath the shade little boys ran and spread the news little girls minded their p's and q's it was the way that it should be for all of eternity and then one day a shadow fell across the world they knew so well thunder rolled across the land the distant horizon was fearfully scanned nightmares visited young and old strange tales around the fire were told people kept their doors shut tight and could hardly sleep at night outside the village a monster lurked skulking in the fog and murk waiting for the silent hour the unwary traveler to devour no longer could the children play even in the light of day birds abandoned the cloudy skies the villagers scanned with frightened eyes laughter was replaced with fear throughout the long and dreary year the leafless trees felt winters chills and the monster laughed behind the hills things might have gone along this way and the village perished, who can say? but fate would not be so forlorn because a hero had been born johnny smith, a faceless sort showed little sign, by all reports of standing out among the crowd not too quiet, not too loud even johnny's mom and dad little suspected that johnny had the stuff of heroes in his being none indeed were so farseeing the night was dark, and wet and drear the little household huddled in fear mom and dad and johnny and sis as the rain against the windows hissed dad whittled at his favorite stick you could hear mom's heartbeat tick sis stared into space and wiggled her toes then johnny from the table rose his algebra homework he put down and looked around with a puzzled frown he listened to the rain and scratched his head i think i'll go for a walk, he said sis looked puzzled, dad looked sad mom cried, johnny, are you mad this is something you must not do outside, certain death awaits you aw gee ma, don't talk like that said johnny, putting on his hat my clouded brain needs a fresh air shock i will just walk around the block so without saying anything more johnny walked over and opened the door and disappeared into the wind and rain would he ever be seen again? part 2