The Last Drops – Peycho Kanev

February 25, 2013 § Leave a comment

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Figment No. 6 flail by Russell Stephens

On both sides of the path to the graveyard

the trees are strangely still.

Each tree keeps its own secrets

within the shadows.

And even there

the tombstones hang with terrible force.

Below

the bodies

wait for the first rain of the Spring.

just to breathe again,

just for a little while.

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Adam’s Apple – Michael X. Green

August 12, 2012 § 2 Comments

SPIRIT WORKER
Clearing Away the Detritus of Tragic Mistakes to Make Way for a Benign Future . . .
by N.C. Mallory

In the beginning, time stood still. Mass and anti-mass were one in the same. There was no distinction of life, yet no existence of death. A mere nothing surrounded a void filled with space before space came about. Light had no meaning, and darkness reigned over all. Then, a miracle happened. From the depths of words, matter formed in the midst of an explosion. The bang filled the void with materials of different natures. Light was the first to appear, spreading among the darkness with vigorous intensity. Water and land formed and separated into distinct places. Upon the land and water, organic life emerged. Last, from the rich soil which made up the crust of the Earth, man was born. Just a still-life mold of the image of God, it laid upon the grass. With His breath, God gave unto man mind and soul and called him Adam. The favorite of all His creations, Adam stood amongst His presence and relished in the divinity of his Creator.

God appointed Adam to name the creatures of newly-created Earth. Adam was shown the inheritance given to him. God made a garden of paradise which He called Eden, and filled it with food and animals. God gave Adam dominion and freedom over any and everything, but left Adam with a warning of a certain tree of the knowledge of good and evil. This particular tree was to give nothing but death, yet the choice would be up to Adam, or anything that should choose to eat of it. Peace and harmony fell thick within the sights of the world, and happiness was abundant for those who searched for it as well as those who knew not what it was. That is, until Adam realized how alone he was as far as the creation of alike beings. Animals multiplied and spread their kind upon the mass territory of land and water; however, Adam remained the only being of his kind which he knew. Until one day, God placed Adam into a deep, heavy sleep. Taking one of Adam’s ribs, God created for Adam a companion molded in his form.

As Adam slept, he felt a soft hand run gently across his face. His eyes slowly opened, and gazed upon the most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed. A smile stood in his sights that matched his own. Other features he saw stood in comparison to his; however, it also had other traits which he did not, yet he found the differences just as beautiful as he did the likenesses. As he gazed into her eyes, Adam spoke softly to himself in astonishment, “Bone made from my bone and flesh made from my flesh.” Speaking up so that she may hear him, Adam said, “You will be called Woman since you were once a part of man, but now a separation of him.” Woman smiled, took Adam’s hand, and while joining a gaze of admiration, she exclaimed, “Separate only by body, but joined at spirit for eternity.” They both stood upon the grass in pure form with no clothing about them. Yet they were comfortable and happy. No bit of shame came upon them. Since the apple was the sweetest of the fruit Adam had yet to taste in the garden, he deemed woman as his apple, and nothing sweeter above her.

The world before our world was quite different. As the form of its shape took place, there maintained an emptiness from the lack of life. Upon sometime within creation, God made beings from a higher dimension. At some point, within the midst of happiness surrounded by God, a disturbance came from the jealousy of an angel known as Lucifer the Morning Star. This jealousy was begat by sin which appeared somewhere around this time. As sin took control over Lucifer, it manifested upon him hatred and disillusionment. Soon, it became so great within Lucifer that he decided to rise up against God and take his throne. Teaming with other followers who agreed with him, Lucifer confronted God, and foolishly challenged the Almighty. This act not only led to his fall, but the fall of his followers as well. As God created the heavens and the earth, a downward dimensional crossing was also placed to maintain the ties of God and His creations. As Lucifer fell from Heaven, he gained access to the realm of the third dimension, which gave him passage to earth and all its inhabitants. Lucifer used this access to his advantage. In his eyes, angels should reign supreme, but instead were servants used to fulfill God’s wishes. When man came around, Lucifer saw how God favored them so much that he even placed them in his own image. If anything, man should serve the servers of God. They should be lower than the status where they sat. The new goal of Lucifer was to destroy the ties held between man and God, and rid man of the privileges given to him by his Lord.

SPIRIT WORKER Meditating in a Finite Stratum of Time
by N.C. Mallory

As the time before the tower of Babel, communication had been different upon the earth. The creations of God shared a language that they understood, and they had shown more humanistic qualities than what could be imagined. It was this reason that woman did not find suspicion in the serpent who came to her and spoke so she could understand him. The serpent knew that there would be no chance to talk with man since man was always in the presence of God, so he went the back way by waiting until woman was alone so that he may approach her and influence her to ruin mankind. As he approached her he asked, “Did God tell you that you could not eat of every tree in the garden?” fully knowing the answer to the question. “We may eat of every fruit except that one,” woman replied, while pointing to a tree found centered within the garden. “We cannot even touch it or else we will die,” she added. The serpent replied, “You won’t die. He just does not want you to be like Him. Once you eat of the tree, you shall become like gods and know good and evil. Of course He would not want you to be like Him. You are beneath Him.” Woman gazed at the tree and noticed the suppleness of its fruits. The serpent once again spoke. “Does it look like it will hurt you? Of course not. It will make you and your other wise and powerful. Don’t you want that for you? Don’t you want that for him?” As they walked near the tree, the serpent reached up, picked a piece of the fruit, and handed it to the woman. With slight hesitation, the woman took a bite of the fruit, and saw that it was delicious. A slight tingling came over her, and many things became clear. She knew she had to share this sensation with Adam who she loved. As Adam came back from talking with God, he took a look at the woman and noticed an immediate change. She appeared to him with such excitement. “The fruit is delicious. The serpent told me of what it can really do, so I tried it, and he was right.” Adam’s heart sank. The beautiful being he once knew had changed. Her radiance was replaced with a dark shadow stuck upon the earth as a symbol that she was now bounded to the world, body and soul. Her beautiful flawless smile now hid a hint of despair and regret. The once lustrous eyes which bore happiness and purity now reflected the outer visions and hid the inner beauty that used to show so brightly. Her skin did not appear as exuberant as he remembered. She was now dying, and he knew it. Panic set over him in a great horde. The being he loved and who genuinely loved him, too, was gone. In her place remained a thing with a time limit of expiration. He will now be alone once again as he was before. Even if God decided to create him another in his image, he will always be haunted by the vision of the first perfect being created just for him. The woman extended her arm with the fruit clutched in her dirty hands. “Eat,” she exclaimed, “and we can be together as gods.” Adam bowed his head and looked at the ground. Would he give up perfection given to him from God to be with her? Worst off, would he be willing to die for her so that no matter what, they could always be together? Taking the fruit from her hand, he put it up to his lips and took a bite. Immediately he felt the hands of death sitting upon his shoulder. As he dropped the fruit to the ground, a tear fell from his face. He knew this was the end of paradise.

Adam raised his head to the woman and noticed the beauty he once saw was gone. She too noticed something within Adam. They both scrounged around for clothing to hide their now realized naked bodies. Suddenly, they heard the voice of God within the garden. With panic-stricken hearts, they hid from God’s image. Adam heard God calling for him, and responded “I heard your voice and hid my naked body from you.” From this, God asked Adam if he had eaten of the tree which was forbidden to eat from. A large lump appeared in Adam’s throat. This sensation was unfamiliar to him as well as unpleasant. At first, he believed it to be remnants of the fruit he ate given to him by his apple the woman, but realizing that it had no mass, just volume, he dubbed it emotion from an action he should not have committed. An emotion we call guilt. Adam responded “the woman you gave me is the reason why I ate from the tree. She handed me the fruit.” God turned His attention towards the woman and asked her of the question to which she responded “I was coaxed by the serpent to eat from it.” From this, God cursed the serpent, the woman, the man, and the land.

Adam decided to call his wife Eve since she was the mother of all living things. God made clothes out of the skins of animals for them to wear. They were then kicked out of Eden and forced to walk the lands. Even though Adam had some time to be relieved from the situation, the lump in his throat remained. Since Eve was no longer the envisioned beauty he once remembered, Adam released her of the title of as his apple. The lump in his throat would always remind him of their fall from Eden. His apple was now a burden. It was the guilt stuck in his throat from eating the forbidden fruit. As of all, his apple was now the forgotten memory of his perfect beloved. Joined together body and soul, they walked the lands and survived upon what God allowed them to obtain. As time passed by, so did their youth. They witnessed the pleasures of the land God laid out for them, as well as the pleasures of their flesh. Eve had become pregnant, and suffered the annoyance of that which was womanhood. Birth was excruciatingly painful. The sins of their past were intensified at that particular moment. However, once it was over, a new emotion appeared between them. As they held their first offspring in their arms, and Adam once again gazed into the eyes of a being which resembled him, he knew that he had once again found something he would die for. Eve was no longer his apple, but neither was the forgotten lump in his throat. Instead, his new apple was his legacy. A legacy which was given to him in the form of his children.

This is Not a Love Story – Amy Price

August 9, 2012 § 6 Comments

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Ivan de Monbrison
ink and acrylic on paper
Paris 2012

This is not a love story. Nor is it a story with a happy ending or a story to leave you with a nostalgic feeling of pleasantries and goodwill. I was born in the slums. Guatemala to be exact. It is a place that fills the gaps between the poor and the wretched.

Born into a family of nine, as Maria Santos Gavantuez, I was not needed. I was merely a burden placed on the shoulders of my matriarchal figure. I was sold into the world of sex and drugs. Dirty old men used me to fulfill their perverted sadistic fantasies. I wondered sometimes how much I had cost. How much money did my mother make, and was it worth it? How many meals did my worth put on the table for my exchange?

My earliest memories were of my beloved brothers watching over me. It almost seemed like they were my parents. My father was rarely around. I think he was a field worker on the cocoa plains. My oldest brother, Salvador, would lull Spanish hymns to me at night. He would sing, “My dearest Maria, don’t fret, don’t cry, God loves you, God loves you tonight, tonight.”

The day I left was a surprise. My mother, dressed in her finest rags, took me to the city. I had never been, so needless to say, I was really excited. Although my mother stayed sullen the entire drive, it wasn’t anything outside her normal disposition, so I didn’t question the intent of the visit. My face stayed glued to the window. I peered out, letting my hands grasp the half opened window pane. The wind blew against my face and I had never felt so free. It’s almost ironic — that moment would be my last glimpse of freedom for a long time.

We pulled into a stucco building and I remember seeing Dobermans around the property, including one on the roof. My mother yanked my hand and pulled me inside. There was no lighting, only the daylight breaking through the windows. I sat silently on this unstable wooden bench along with three other girls my age. The smell was putrid and dirty, like my grandmother’s house after a fresh livestock slaughter. My mother walked out of the room and said, “Stay, mija.”

From that moment my jubilant complexion was crushed by the reality of the situation. A tall masked man grabbed my innocent body and threw me into the back of his truck. The road was bumpy and uncomfortable, but nothing compared to the vexatious circumstances I was about to endure.

Flies and maggots take the form of a human shape. The stench of homemade hooch and petrified ruins of what was nothing. This place was a nothing. Nothing good comes in this hellhole and nothing good comes out this plagued city of the doomed and decrepit.

I didn’t want to be a part of the traffic, but here girls are born into it. Most of my childhood is now blocked. The images I can recall only consist of brutal beatings and women rolled in a batter of subservient chauvinistic dominance.

No sugar coating here. The things that happened to my juvenile body would make the most heavy-hearted man cringe and weep.

Ten years young and already working a full time job — this is not a childhood. Fernando Zavala Lopez bought me off. He was a political frontrunner in the city. Behind closed doors, however, he was a filthy, sexually deviant lowlife.

As I lay on the cold concrete slab, my only serenity is my tattered gown to which I cling. My brief salvation rests upon a dim glimpse of light struggling to break through the shattered, boarded-up pane. Too desolate and dry for tears, I mourn in a fetal position and grasp tightly to my frail knees and rock back and forth.

I am fed twice a day. This is considered a delicacy compared to the others. One slice of bread and a sandwich made with what seemed like the corner deli’s expired goods. I am allowed one glass of water and copious amounts of red wine, to keep me inebriated at all times.

He holds me tight and covers my mouth. The excess saliva drips out the corner of his chapped lips as he penetrates my vision with his foul, dilated eyes. I shall not cry this time. I am numb to the stress my body endures, and the pain is normal now. Night after night I am a salve in his circus. We were captive mongrels to his three-ring freak show.

Some of the girls scream and moan in distress, but not I. I surrender to my silence. One day we will get out, but not today. Today we huddle quietly, not saying a word, but we are all thinking the same thought. Whatever happens, he cannot take away our minds. We keep these sacred as our tender souls are violated and destroyed.

I wish I had a mirror. Just so I can see what I look like. It’s not for vanity, but to know I am still alive, and that the color of my skin is not red and blue.

I have no concept of time. Was I a teenager yet? How long had I endured the violence?

It was like a lucid dream, complete with cold sweats and frightful terrors. A dream so real that your heart beats faster than a crooked politician on redemption. So real, you can feel it all and cannot escape. That’s my life.

Fast forward the unrelenting molestation a few years or so. I must have been developing, because I began to bleed. My life cycle was blooming and not only became apparent to me, but Fernando as well. I had seen girls come and go, and it was no surprise what was next. The end of my existence.

My eyes burned from the sunlight and the warm breeze of the light wind felt so unfamiliar to me. I was uneasy, to say the least. Fernando said one thing to me. “Little nina, you were good to me.” He then laughed at me with the most senile snicker he could muster. He wanted to scare me, but after all that I had been through there was no way a cheap laugh was going to frighten me.

He took me to a barren field, but he had made a mistake. I don’t know if he was stressed with the upcoming election or if he was just getting soft, but he forgot to tie me up. I grabbed the sharpest shard of wood I could and I hawked it down my mouth. The shard left splinters down my throat, but it still wasn’t as painful as the torture I had endured.

We drove out to a remote location and he let me out of the shiny new BMW. He cocked back his rifle and pointed it my direction. I knelt down and asked, “May I give you one last service?” He smiled and nodded. I walked up to him and gave him a tight grasping hug. As his warm body embraced mine, I pulled the shard out from my throat and gave him a revenge stabbing.

I took it straight to the throat. All my anger and and resentment transferred into this projectile death weapon. He bent to his knees and finally teared up and begged for his life. The hot blood spilled out his face like a waterfall I had never seen. I felt no remorse my mind was as cold as the dying grip from his perverted fingers. I reached for the rifle and let out one novice shot to the head. Is it messed up that I took enjoyment in watching his head split open?

I was free at last and took the car keys, sat on his fine leather seats. Before I left I took a moment to reflect. I embraced my surroundings, took a swig of whiskey out of his silver-plated flask and closed my eyes and sighed.

I left that God forsaken city, and just drove. I was ready to get my revenge on those who had done me wrong, and save those who were innocent. Call me a crusader, or a serial killer, I don’t care. I am a self-educated vigilante, an overseer, and a guardian for girls like me. Those who violate the sacred righteousness of a young girl’s life will be doomed to face the vengeance of Maria the spectacular.

Pantomime — Laura Lam

August 5, 2012 § Leave a comment

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Laura Lam

A Moulin Review poet featured in Volume 2, Laura Lam, has written a book called “Pantomime.” It will be released by Strange Chemistry in February 2013. The tale is set in a circus among ruins of an ancient, possibly magical, civilization. An aerialist and a nobleman’s daughter who, the book summary says, “is uncomfortable in corsets and crinoline, and prefers climbing trees to debutante balls,” share a secret.  

This page has pre-ordering information and other details.

Click here to read her poem from Volume 2, “Baby Steps.”

Laura’s blog has an account of her road to publication – a great read for anyone working on a book or interested in the publication process.

Modern Articles of Faith — George Moore

July 28, 2012 § 1 Comment

BW Building: by Chuck Taylor

Inside cragged walls, a ruined church, boys are
kicking a ball where a king once crowned his son
and told him, mercy will not save you. By our time,

only the yard around the cathedral walls is left,
and we hump history through the broken arms of doors,
to stone breastplates of sarcophagi worn nameless,

though a flyer says another king was born, died, and then
the church followed. Spaces now open to the sky.
The ball rolls to a stop before our feet and dies,

as shouts go up through the hobbled choir, half-fallen
archways once hung with heavy tapestries,
and now the sounds of boys screaming decrees.

With evening, the ghosts arrive. The son beheaded
by his father, the king, when there was talk
of treason. I snap a shot of the ruptured cupola

as night creeps in. It’s too cool for this season,
but the grass has come to life, the ramparts fall to darkness,
as the boys pick up their ball and head for home.

Tethered – Hailey Shapiro

July 4, 2012 § Leave a comment

Untitled: by Zareh

     Nothingness. Just peacefulness that I know I will never again experience. It is nearly dark, yet there is a soft illumination that allows me to see. What am I? What is my purpose? I want to have a purpose, to be something, someone, important.
     I feel movement. I am not moving, but that in which I am encased is. Time. What is it?  What good does it do to ponder the length of the day which has passed? Time has no meaning, as I have no meaning.
     The light grows brighter now. I am slowly moving towards the brightness. I feel warmth. I am being expelled from that which encased me. I can see. All around me are trees, with bark a dull and almost lifeless brown.
     Green tips are scattered over brittle twigs that flow into branches. I am a green tip. I am a leaf. I now have a purpose. I reason to live. I am to collect the rays of the sun, so that the tree may eat and thrive. I now serve as one in the community.
     Time still has no meaning, and yet things are changing. I have grown and unfurled to my fullest potential. I enjoy being a ray collector, of serving, but grow weary of my post. I want to shove off from the twig that holds me up high. But I can’t. I am tethered.
      I am weary now. My task is completed. I have done my job well, yet received no recognition. I long to be free, to do as I wish. I wish to dance through the air. I linger between a golden yellow and a vibrant crimson, a prima ballerina just waiting for a chance.
     A strong gust blows by and I embrace it. I am gently lifted and blown about, wishing I could follow its magnificent path, unhindered and free. A second gust comes, stronger, and finally, my tether is severed.
     I am free, none can hold me. Gravity is but a word, a notion. Nothing can stop me as I fly, floating in a winding river of air. I do not resist, but move with it, twirling and dancing. Suddenly, the wind ceases and all is still. Then slowly, I fall. Freefall. This is freedom. Nothing holds me up. Nothing pushing me left or right, or even down. I can go wherever I please. As I begin my slow descent, I do one last thing. I put my whole being into it and start to spin. A blur of gold and crimson, I spin and glide as a ballerina to the floor.
     I have served my purpose. I was part of something great. I made a difference.
     A little girl stops to pick me up, and twirls me about between her fingers. She smiles and exclaims how pretty I am. Then she carefully places me between the pages of her book, and I know that to her I am very special.

Volume 3 Online Journal

April 9, 2012 § 1 Comment

Thanks to submissions from many authors, poets, and artists, as well as the work of our editorial advisors and layout team, Volume 3 is now online. We hope you enjoy it. You may wish to click “View this document on Scribd” under the embedded PDF, because you’ll be able to zoom in using the plus sign for easier reading.

Remember, we’ll be posting work for Volume 4 as it’s accepted, so check back here often for more art and writing.

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