proposition 233

by f. flynn

illustrations by danny delacroix

here’s another story about some aliens. where this time? some place starting with a t - a long name. where’s that? i don’t know - i could look it up. don’t bother. will they be coming around? it says that emissaries will be sent all over the globe. so if i went out to wendy’s i might see some emissaries ? maybe. it doesn’t say exactly where they are going. what are they up to this time? let’s see - they got some kind of vote, they want humans to vote on something. i did that the last time. well, you can do it again, if you want. i might, if it’s not too much trouble. it’s called proposition 233. * proposition 233 reads as follows: the ambassadors of the empire of b————— offer a pair of pills to the “humans” whom we have determined to be one of the dominant life forms on this planet. the fifth most dominant, to be exact. the two pills must be taken together or not at all. the entire “human race” must take the pills or not. a vote may be taken, in which any human who wishes may take part, to determine whether the entire human race will or will not take the pills. we, the ambassadors of the empire of b———————, will be happy to administer this vote. there will be one vote, and it will be final. the effects of the two pills are as follows: pill “a” will change the outward forms of humans. all humans will have the same form, the same “color” (according to human perception), the same weight and height at birth, the same weight and height through five clearly defined stages of development, and identical facial features at each stage of development. “sex” will be eliminated. pill “b” will change human brains. humans will no longer see the world in binary terms. there will be no more “us” and “them”. there will be no more “debates”, “arguments”, “controversies”, etc. humans will perceive the universe as civilized beings do - as one. the combined results of these pills will be to eliminate so-called war, hatred, racism, injustice, inequality, oppression, exploitation, alienation, competition, survival of the fittest, and other ills. it will also eliminate separate "cultures" for different groups of humsns. a “yes” vote on proposition 233 will signify a desire to take the pills, a “no” vote to not take them. if “yes” wins, we, the emissaries of the empire of b——————, will be happy to distribute the pills and oversee their administration. if “no” wins, we will be on our way, and wish the “human race” all the best. in either case, we may return in the future, with other propositions for other inhabitants of this planet. * the vote was taken. of the 20 billion human inhabitants of earth, approximately 9 billion voted. the final vote was 8.5 billion to 0.5 billion. * do you think that a) 8.5 billion voted “yes” and 0.5 billion voted “no” or b) 8.5 billion voted “no” and 0.5 voted “yes”? how would you have voted?

2 more poems

by chuck leary

heisenberg and st basil of cappadocia play gin rummy apprehending the benediction of contraindication despite the emptiness of flowers growing happily in the interstices of jellyfished kineticism the loose matriculation of narcissism overflows the percipient quagmire in the ruins of a snow-covered tower under the vertiginous wasteland of the expanding yawning zeitgeist but the zeitgeist has no amanuensis as barracudas chomp the debris of the empire of the forty graves

slender i hate poetry but i love slender volumes of verse i used to tell myself i was not a voyeur i didn’t understand porn or want to look at naked bodies at flabby boobs and dicks and asses or stand in the dark in the wind and rain looking through lighted windows at unsuspecting humans doing - what? but naked souls that is a different matter i admit it now i am worse than the sad peeper seeking a glimpse of ass or boob everything pales beside seeing naked souls i always thought stand up comedians were the bravest people in the world nobody could be more naked in front of a crowd with no cover and no excuses they either “killed” or “died “ of course i never had the guts to try it myself but if you can’t do standup or performance art or read poetry out loud what you can do is write poetry in slender volumes forget zines and anthologies where the naked ones can huddle together and hide behind each other no, it must be a lone slender volume the distillation of a single naked and lonely soul the fewer words on a page the better nothing is more naked than a book of bad poetry except, perhaps a book of ordinary poetry ?

2 poems

by chuck leary

something i always thought that someday i would find something somewhere on a dark highway on a rainy street in a dimly lit cafe on a lonely road on an empty subway car in milwaukee a motel room in las cruces new mexico standing over a juke box in manitoba or tokyo at a bus station in vladivostok something maybe not love or peace or illumination or divine revelation but something something i would only know when it happened

suitcase i was not worried about losing the group even though my black suitcase wth my new novel in it of which i was so proud was in the group baggage being taken to the bus downstairs under the curved marble staircase when the old woman with the round lined face leaned over to me and whispered “you are quite a character” and laughed softly she and another old woman began talking in french but so softly i could not understand them when i went down the stairs the bus was gone but i was not worried because “i knew the area” wide polished vistas in gleaming red and orange and white porcelain tunnels with a hint of rain and the cafeterias were closed i kept going in circles but was not worried except a little bit about the suitcase with my novel i was never in a dream which was more obviously “just a dream” but when i woke up i was surprised

a poem and a story

by corinne delmonico

illustrations by eddie el greco

death someday i won’t wake up and the world will still be there it won’t laugh at my jokes or ask me to say a prayer a cat will sit at a window a dog will bark on a lawn a raccoon will eat a pizza crust but i will be gone

broken hearts josie was standing in the aisle of the supermarket, looking at the six-packs of candy bars. she would have liked to steal one, but she knew the supermarket had pretty good security cameras. an old man came toward her from one end of the aisle, pushing a shopping cart with his arms folded on the handle. out of the corner of her eye, josie saw an old woman, with a red plastic shopping basket on her arm, approach from the other end. they were both old, about fifty or a hundred years old. the woman had gray hair and the man was bald and they both had wrinkled faces. they met about eight feet away from josie and josie could hear their conversation. “ray davis! is that you?” “by god - it’s marcia! marcia! how are you, marcia? i hope you are well. my god, this is amazing!” “you hope i’m well? you have the nerve to ask me that, after the way you broke my heart?” “no, marcia, i’m sorry. it was you who broke my heart.” josie could not take any more. her stomach was going to hurt from trying not to break out laughing. with a last fond glance at the six-packs of reese’s peanut butter cups, she made her way out of the market as quickly as she could without actually running. or walking so fast she might as well be running. she went to find her friend samantha. samantha was where she usually was, on the park bench over by the duck pond. and reading one of her dumb books, like she usually was. samantha was not impressed with josie’s story. “i don’t see what is so funny about it,” she told josie. “it’s not funny at all. only a goof would think it was funny.” “you are breaking my heart,” said josie, and laughed at her own joke.

agatha

by alice marston sternwall

illustrations by konrad kraus

agatha was a solemn child with no desire to run wild while other children played with balls agatha dreamed of stately halls lined with books by ancient sages - how she longed to turn the pages containing the wisdom of the ages - agatha’s life went by in stages she remained solemn as she grew she loved the old and scorned the new and ne’er embarked on slope so slippery as caring ought for fads or frippery if romance ever touched her heart she gave no sign, but played the part of one whose only love, forsooth was pursuit of eternal truth agatha gained a name of sorts the god of fame with her did sport two books of epigrams, quite terse spread slowly through the universe a fearful illness wracked her being she realized her days were fleeing doctors and priests alike she spurned but sought to gather all she’d learned into a final testament - then to her acolytes she sent an invitation to attend a gathering before her end attracted by her flickering flame the mothlike followers duly came and found poor agatha almost gone with little hope for the next dawn they gathered round, from many nations when to their sudden consternation a violent storm outside was heard obscuring the sibyl’s final words then when the thunder did retreat the faithful begged her to repeat her prophecy - but , broken-hearted found agatha’s spirit had departed

rage

by nick nelson

illustrations by danny delacroix

lola, the technician, showed keith, the consultant, a chart. “look at this guy, will you?” keith glanced at it. “move him ahead of the others. we don’t want his brains going through his skull and hitting the ceiling.” a group of twenty citizens had been randomly picked up in the morning and had their i d’s and brains scanned. after being given a shower and a disinfecting and some muffins and beverages they had been herded into a waiting room where they would be summoned by the technicians and consultants for an examination and then released or retained, as their situation might call for. “have a seat,” keith told the man lola brought in. but the man had already taken a seat. lola closed the door behind her, leaving keith alone with the man. keith punched in the number on the chart lola had left him, and the citizen’s history and brainscan appeared on the screen. “lawrence, right?” “that’s me.” “what seems to be your problem, lawrence?” “problem? i haven’t got any problem. i understand why you have these sweeps. believe me, i think you guys do a great job, catching terrorists and child molesters and all, and i am behind you one hundred percent. but i don’t have any problem, and i just want to get back to my job.” keith looked at the screen, “yes, i see you do indeed have a job. lawrence. i’m impressed. but according to what i also see here, you are one angry man. one very angry man. so something must be bothering you.” lawrence shrugged. “nothing that wouldn’t bother anybody.” “oh? and what might that be, that would bother anybody?” keith scrolled on his screen as he spoke. “oh, i see here that you are a football fan. a jets fan, to be exact. is that right?” “i’m sort of a jets fan. but what i really am is an anti-cheatriots fan!” “ah,” said keith. “the cheatriots. yes, here at the center we have heard of the cheatriots before.” “i’ll bet you have! everybody has heard of the cheatriots!” lawrence shouted. keith looked up. lawrence’s whole attitude had changed. a few seconds ago he had seemed perfectly relaxed - or as relaxed as anybody ever was who was brought to the center - but now he was trembling, and holding on to the sides of his chair as if afraid he might be ejected from it. “the fucking cheatriots! fucking belichick! fucking pussy-ass tammy brady! did you see that game against the raiders on thursday night! the cheatriots o-line was holding on every play! every play! and their special teams! special treatment teams! and fucking goodell! it’s all a fix!” “calm down, big fella, calm down.” keith considered hitting the buzzer under his desk to summon a couple of orderlies, but held off. “relax, take a deep breath.” “fucking goodell, “ lawrence raged on. “goodell and his bullshit fines! it’s all just a smoke screen! why doesn’t he just go down on the sidelines and let brady fuck him in broad daylight, he’s not fooling anybody!” “lawrence, lawrence,” keith used his best soothing voice. “just relax. relax. it’s going to be all right. we are here for you. we here at the center are here for you.” lawrence calmed down. he looked frightened, as if he realized his outburst had not helped him if he wanted to be released from the center. “i’m sorry. it’s just - it’s just every time i think about those assholes brady and belichick and what they get away with. they’ve ruined football… they’ve ruined america. i just… and how long has it been going on now? fifty years? a hundred?…” “you are exciting yourself again, lawrence. calm down. i have something here for you.” lawrence’s eyes widened. “you are going to give me drugs.” “no, lawrence, not exactly. you see… in my professional judgment you are too far gone for that.” “too far gone for drugs! no, no!” “i have something here, lawrence, far more powerful than any drug. the most powerful thing in the world, in fact.” “oh?” lawrence was calm now, but looked frightened. “and what might that be?” “the truth.” “the truth?” “the truth.” keith folded his hands in front of him on the desk. “you see, lawrence, there is no reason to hate tom brady and bill belicheck. and do you know why?” “why?” “because they don’t really exist." keith looked lawrence straight in the eye. "and it isn’t just tom brady and bill belicheck. everybody you see on tv, everybody you see on the news, every so-called celebrity you see on the internet, they are all just actors. oh, and everything you were ever taught in school, everything you were taught about history, about science and religion, about everything, it’s all a lie. i’m just saying. and all the actors you see, they were brought to this planet 10,000 years ago by the masters, and that all play different parts through the years.” “wow,” said lawrence. “that’s amazing.” “for example,” keith went on. “the guy playing tom brady now, he was j f k, and before that he was charles lindbergh and before that he was rudolf valentino. and the actor playing belicheck, before that he was stalin, and before that he was ludendorff, and before that he was bismarck, and before that… you get the idea,” lawrence shook his head. “i never suspected anything like that,” he told keith. “um… can i go now?” “oh,no, no. i am sorry, lawrence.” keuth shook his head. “you see, now that you know the truth, you can’t very well be released back into the general population, can you?” “i can’t? then - what happens to me?” “you will be relocated to another planet.” keith turned back to his screen. “let’s see what we have here. this will just take a second… here we are, planet 353… we can have you on a ship in a few hours. you will like planet 353. nice weather, at least according to this. plenty of things to do. and they will feed you.” * lawrence had an uneventful flight to planet 353. the ship was only half full, and the trip took six hours, including a thirty-five minute stop at some space station. during the flight he was given a tuna sandwich which was kind of dry, some potato chips that he found pleasantly crispy, and a salad that was not too bad. when they arrived at planet 353, lawrence and five other earthlings were given papers and i d badges and led by a uniformed guide through a door. outside the spaceport, it was dark night, and the first thing lawrence and the others noticed was that the landscape was filled with some kind of massive construction project. two enormous edifices of some kind - both towering to the sky - were being built and both were brightly lit up and filled with activity. sparks were liberally flying through the air and falling to the ground or floating up to the dark heavens. “this is where you guys will be working,” the guide explained. “we have thirty-seven hour days here, and we work a full thirty-seven, with four shifts. you will be assigned shifts after we get you in quarters and assigned bunks.” “but what are they?” a young woman beside lawrence asked. “what are they building there?” “what are they?’ the guide repeated. “they are pyramids.” his voice dropped to a reverent tone. “they are still with us - praise the universe - but these two pyramids are being built against the day when they will house the remains of the two greatest human beings who have ever lived. “ “oh?” lawrence asked. “snd who might those be?” “who do you think?” the guide answered. “tom brady and bill belicheck.”

someday

by chuck leary

illustrations by pete palomine

someday you will wake up and the bad people will all be gone and you will think, hallelujah this is the new dawn and you will take the scripture down from its secret shelf the one you have been writing forever all by yourself you will put it in a suitcase and go out into the street and you will nod politely to all the folks you meet and they will be so happy that their oppressors have fled that they will not even notice the frown on the top of your head you will take the suitcase to the river and toss it into the depths your sins will all be forgiven you will have no more to confess all the gods you invented and all the demons you named will be as if they never existed and never played the game you will put your hands in your pockets and walk back into town the celebration is only beginning but where is your golden crown?