radioactivemoat:

(Check out Kyle Bella’s poems in their entirety via Deluge 2)


Kyle Bella is a Brooklyn-based social media writer for media website Alternet and a freelance writer for various publications including Huffington Post, Buzzfeed LGBT, and Truthout. Previous creative writing has appeared in [wherever] magazine, nomorepotlucks, and Jacket 2. He is launching a new book project in May 2014 called Viral Legacies, which will examine the HIV/AIDS crisis and its impact on a younger generation of queer men.

More [here]

queerembraces:

My Viral Legacies fundraiser ends in 13 hours! I just crossed the 2K mark, and am now only $460 away from my goal. Donate here or help spread the word in supporting this innovative HIV/AIDS history project.

queerembraces:

My Viral Legacies fundraiser ends in 13 hours! I just crossed the 2K mark, and am now only $460 away from my goal. Donate here or help spread the word in supporting this innovative HIV/AIDS history project.

actionbookspress:

"One of the great cliche conventions of 90s experimentalism was that narratives were inherently conservative. In part this came from the (justified) criticisms of the ‘narrative poetry’ (or ‘Quietism’) that used to be imposed on students in most poetry writing classes. But the problem with the Quietist poems is not necessarily that they are narrative but rather that they use narrative in a boring way: I look out the window (literally or metaphorically) and see something that makes me remember and based on that memory I have some sensation of transcendence or epiphany. 
These Quietist poems depend on a self-righteous sense of interiority and authenticity that allows no interesting language. You have to find your ‘voice’ (interiority) but it’s a voice that sounds like every other quietist voice and anything interesting you might do with language will be a threat to that voice. And the narratives tend to be from behind the ‘window,’ remembering, so it rarely feels that anything is at risk.”[Click] to continue reading

actionbookspress:

"One of the great cliche conventions of 90s experimentalism was that narratives were inherently conservative. In part this came from the (justified) criticisms of the ‘narrative poetry’ (or ‘Quietism’) that used to be imposed on students in most poetry writing classes. But the problem with the Quietist poems is not necessarily that they are narrative but rather that they use narrative in a boring way: I look out the window (literally or metaphorically) and see something that makes me remember and based on that memory I have some sensation of transcendence or epiphany.

These Quietist poems depend on a self-righteous sense of interiority and authenticity that allows no interesting language. You have to find your ‘voice’ (interiority) but it’s a voice that sounds like every other quietist voice and anything interesting you might do with language will be a threat to that voice. And the narratives tend to be from behind the ‘window,’ remembering, so it rarely feels that anything is at risk.”


[Click] to continue reading

radioactivemoat:

"rush" by Rachel Burns(Read more from Burns in Deluge 2)
my wannarexia hasbecome indecipherablewith my craft& allthe other poetessesthink i’m a belliedsecond cousinbut you are so sweetyou are so so sweeti am as metaphoricalas a home town buffettaking the first swan dive

Rachel Burns has poems forthcoming in Spork, H_NGM_N, White Stag, and others. She is co-founder and managing editor of Similar:Peaks::.

radioactivemoat:

"rush" by Rachel Burns
(Read more from Burns in Deluge 2)




my wannarexia has
become indecipherable
with my craft
& all
the other poetesses
think i’m a bellied
second cousin
but you are so sweet
you are so so sweet


i am as metaphorical
as a home town buffet
taking the first swan dive







Rachel Burns has poems forthcoming in Spork, H_NGM_N, White Stag, and others. She is co-founder and managing editor of Similar:Peaks::.

Head over to Fanzine for my thoughts on Coconut’s 2014 catalog and three of their more recent titles: Ji yoon Lee’s Foreigner’s Folly: A Tale of Attempted Project, Steven Karl’s Dork Swagger, and Shelly Taylor’s Lions, Remonstrance.

Head over to Fanzine for my thoughts on Coconut’s 2014 catalog and three of their more recent titles: Ji yoon Lee’s Foreigner’s Folly: A Tale of Attempted Project, Steven Karl’s Dork Swagger, and Shelly Taylor’s Lions, Remonstrance.

stevenkarl:

While in the Brooklyn branch of Rough Trade Records, I scored this limited vinyl pressing of Texas shoe-gazers, Pink Playground. My copy is numbered 657 of 750.

radioactivemoat:

(Here’s some Drew Kalbach for you!—straight from the digital pages of Deluge 2)
Sic semper feed me first IHave a clutch and a newSharpened coin and a mile-long hungerFor flesh of the beast.Leaky hero thrust through my hair-do likeTell me more on credit scores orHonk away little traffic jamDealing with precious disease and too slim jeans.I have a desire for public accoladesOn social sharing sites.In straits, in pro-consul thievery,Won’t wear no false flag.Thumbs up.Logged in through so much red.
Drew Kalbach is from Philadelphia. He holds an MFA from the University of Notre Dame and writes about contemporary poetry and media for Actuary Lit. His work has appeared in or is forthcoming in Fence, Tarpaulin Sky, Whole Beast Rag, and others.

radioactivemoat:

(Here’s some Drew Kalbach for you!—straight from the digital pages of Deluge 2)

Sic semper feed me first I
Have a clutch and a new
Sharpened coin and a mile-long hunger
For flesh of the beast.
Leaky hero thrust through my hair-do like
Tell me more on credit scores or
Honk away little traffic jam
Dealing with precious disease and too slim jeans.
I have a desire for public accolades
On social sharing sites.
In straits, in pro-consul thievery,
Won’t wear no false flag.
Thumbs up.
Logged in through so much red.





Drew Kalbach is from Philadelphia. He holds an MFA from the University of Notre Dame and writes about contemporary poetry and media for Actuary Lit. His work has appeared in or is forthcoming in Fence, Tarpaulin Sky, Whole Beast Rag, and others.

radioactivemoat:

(This is just one of two Beth Towle poems featured in Deluge 2.)



Beth Towle is an Indiana native and a graduate of the University of Notre Dame MFA program. She is a contributing editor at Actuary Lit. Her work has previously been published in Spork.

radioactivemoat:

Bronze House by Nikki Wallschlaeger. (Read more new work by Wallschlaeger in Deluge 2)Statues in the concession gardens until the beachmaster hippo signaled it was time to move. He needs to learn about his male privilege but I’m actually talking about real hippos here.This is the most terrible of all the animal prisons because it’s the largest. the barometer of the modern zoo is based on the spike in penguin mass suicides, but these places suck anyway so fuck it.My father, who left me w/ my mother’s collections. This exacerbates into a goat barnyard in thepetting area of the park. Both of them are experts at mannerisms that prevent disclosure.She has about 30 cookie jars now, ranging from chicken little to baseball tart. Someday I will have to sort them. I will do something strange to pay homage to what we couldn’t bridge, I will bring the pieces ofceramic cows and giraffes and rearrange them into a pentagram on the sidewalk. As a teenager I refused to come home one night and got drunk, had sex, and passed out. The next day I was sentenced to 2 daysin the county mental health facility. When you picked me up, you didn’t say a word. So the first shard, a piece of a bear nose, goes here Nikki Wallschlaeger's work has been featured in DecomP, Esque, Word Riot, Spork, Likewise Folio, Horse Less Review, Storyscape Journal, Coconut (forthcoming), The Account (forthcoming) & others. She is also the author of the chapbook The Frogs at Night (Shirt Pocket Press) and the chapbook, I Would Be the Happiest Bird (Horseless Press). She lives in Milwaukee, WI and you can reach her [here]

radioactivemoat:

Bronze House by Nikki Wallschlaeger.
(Read more new work by Wallschlaeger in Deluge 2)


Statues in the concession gardens until the beachmaster hippo signaled it was time to move. He needs to learn about his male privilege but I’m actually talking about real hippos here.

This is the most terrible of all the animal prisons because it’s the largest. the barometer of the modern zoo is based on the spike in penguin mass suicides, but these places suck anyway so fuck it.

My father, who left me w/ my mother’s collections. This exacerbates into a goat barnyard in the

petting area of the park. Both of them are experts at mannerisms that prevent disclosure.

She has about 30 cookie jars now, ranging from chicken little to baseball tart. Someday I will have to sort them. I will do something strange to pay homage to what we couldn’t bridge, I will bring the pieces of

ceramic cows and giraffes and rearrange them into a pentagram on the sidewalk. As a teenager I refused to come home one night and got drunk, had sex, and passed out. The next day I was sentenced to 2 days

in the county mental health facility. When you picked me up, you didn’t say a word. So the first shard, a piece of a bear nose, goes here





Nikki Wallschlaeger's work has been featured in DecomP, Esque, Word Riot, Spork, Likewise Folio, Horse Less Review, Storyscape Journal, Coconut (forthcoming), The Account (forthcoming) & others. She is also the author of the chapbook The Frogs at Night (Shirt Pocket Press) and the chapbook, I Would Be the Happiest Bird (Horseless Press). She lives in Milwaukee, WI and you can reach her [here]

“Kate Durbin is pop culture’s stenographer. E! Entertainment ingeniously peers inside the television static, revealing the many fictions that make up our reality, and the many realities which make up our fictions. It’s also a lot of fun to read. I love it.”

—Heidi Montag, star of MTV’s The Hills


E! Entertainment is forthcoming from Wonder (May 2014)

radioactivemoat:

What Sweet Seduction Lies Befores Us?” by Ronnie Peltier(read Ronnie’s other less tumblr-friendly poem in Deluge 2—now online)VERSE 1:  See what festers behind daddy’s sweet silhouette,
              2:  We’ll never dance again, your sanguine pirouette 
              3:  Eternal dungeon ashen under milky wet
 
              sallow whispers oozing aortic decaying heart
              swirling entombed in memory’s uncouth, wart-
              and cold with absence. Melodies hummed apart
 
              remains that you drink and kiss. Certain trust
              ridden pleasure complex. Dig in, seek wearily
              never resolve, rather dissolve into wanton lust
 
              emerges from mutual death, where lovers steeped
              that seepage between brain and bone—infant dust
              trysts beckoned in silence but explicit on treble
 
              into silence, silence finally grasp that dim shiver.
              snorting crevices past beauty, lonely kink queen
              libretto tongues licking wounds raw again. Where
 
              We could never clutch each other in the dark, only
              dressed in precious muscles.
              did I spit your chewed nipples? Where did you


              in the fetid warmth of harsh exposure.

              expel the bleeding tip of my erection?
Ronnie Peltier studies creative writing at the University of Notre Dame. His work has previously appeared in Gobbet.

radioactivemoat:

What Sweet Seduction Lies Befores Us?” by Ronnie Peltier
(read Ronnie’s other less tumblr-friendly poem in Deluge 2—now online)


VERSE 1
:  See what festers behind daddy’s sweet silhouette,

              2:  We’ll never dance again, your sanguine pirouette

              3:  Eternal dungeon ashen under milky wet

 

              sallow whispers oozing aortic decaying heart

              swirling entombed in memory’s uncouth, wart-

              and cold with absence. Melodies hummed apart

 

              remains that you drink and kiss. Certain trust

              ridden pleasure complex. Dig in, seek wearily

              never resolve, rather dissolve into wanton lust

 

              emerges from mutual death, where lovers steeped

              that seepage between brain and bone—infant dust

              trysts beckoned in silence but explicit on treble

 

              into silence, silence finally grasp that dim shiver.

              snorting crevices past beauty, lonely kink queen

              libretto tongues licking wounds raw again. Where

 

              We could never clutch each other in the dark, only

              dressed in precious muscles.

              did I spit your chewed nipples? Where did you



              in the fetid warmth of harsh exposure.




              expel the bleeding tip of my erection?






Ronnie Peltier studies creative writing at the University of Notre Dame. His work has previously appeared in Gobbet.