Monday, 25 May 2009

FATURDAY NIGHT FIFH FRY by MARTIN C



Faterday Night Fifh Fry

by Martin C



I got a job with the Witchfynderf after the Roundheadf kicked me out for the fin of NECROMANFY. One day, reportf came in of a MERMAID wafhed up on the Fouthampton fhore. Matthew Hopkinf Efquire ordered uf to make good fpeed to Fouthampton at once, to intercept the fea flut, af fuch a beaft - born neither wholly human nor fully fifh - muft, by neceffity, be fpawn of Fatan himfelf.

Hopkinf waf a weird fucker. He waf af paranoid af a Roficrucian at a fpit roaft, alwayf carping on about Catholic prieftf hiding in the wardrobe and familiarf fneaking round the bufhef at night. But then, after quaffing a few jarf of hif 'fpecial elixir', he'd turn bright crimfon in the cheekf and become boifterouf and bawdy in tone, demanding to know if we'd ever feen a nun'f tufh.

We arrived at Fouthampton at noon the next day, where the Mobile Marine Witchfynder Unit had already fnared the mermaid. A deliciouf creature waf fhe; hair af golden af a bale of hay, foft white fkin and green eyef like whirlpoolf. Fhe gave a mournful figh af Hopkinf fnapped her coral necklace from her flender neck and pronounced her a "child of the devil".

He then ordered thif beautiful fifh-lady to be fubjected to... TRIAL BY WATER. The ftupid twat. After fhe fwam away, fniggering, Hopkinf turned a blazing red in the chopf - even more fo than after hif ufual communion with the elixir - and, in hif fruftrated rage, fuffered a fitful attack of the bone-ache.

But, fix hourf later, we caught another mermaid, one bleffed with the pureft, blondeft curlf and the fweeteft charmf. Thif time, we fubjected the flattern to...TRIAL BY FIRE. Picking the fcalef off waf a haffle, but it wafn't the worft fillet I've tafted.




Martin C lives in North West London and has been hacking out copy for various fanzines and magazines since 1993. He also runs a weblog called Beyond the Implode, which was once described as "the kind of thing that gives totalitarian clampdowns on bloggers a good name".

Saturday, 23 May 2009

INTERIM #5: 2i3x







Saturday, 16 May 2009

GUNS by MICHAEL WASPMAN



Guns

by Michael Waspman



Guns in kitchen drawers.
Guns stuffed down the backs of sofas.
Guns lined tight beneath floorboards, nestled between the joists.
Guns in cavity walls, hidden behind hastily rendered plasterboards.
Guns in lampshades and secreted behind unread books in oak-effect shelving units.
Guns on TV, illuminated and garish.
Guns down the back of shirts, itching like a visit to the barbershop.
Guns filling the basement and blocking the drains, sending effluent flooding across gun-patterned linoleum.
Guns in cigarette packs, shaken out onto a Formica-top coffee table.
Guns in wooden boxes, piled high beneath the stairs.
Guns in the fish-tank bloated and shrouded in air-bubbles.
Guns, crammed tight along the windowsill.
Guns dripping from a busted faucet like Dali watches.
Guns just visible in the filament of a light bulb.
A room full of dust mite guns, hung in the air and spiraling like a secret microcosm.
Gun molecules that gag and lay heavy on the lungs.
Infinite guns stretching above and below to plot a heathen gun-universe.

Guns everywhere.

Shaun Tyler awoke, face down on his desk, his mouth wretched with the taste of stale beer. And in those awakening moments, with the dream of guns still fresh in his mind, Shaun Tyler knew what he should do.

A great weight lifted from Shaun Tyler’s shoulders as he slid open the pine drawer, where the 9mm. parabellem Sig Sauger slumbered, oiled and fully loaded and lovely beyond belief.





Michael Waspman was born in Chicago in 1957. He grew up in California and has a BA in English literature from Willamette University, Oregon and an MA from Loyola University, Los Angeles. He has worked as a librarian, a school teacher and as a report writer for a law firm. He now works full time as a writer.

Apart from his novels he has published more than sixty short stories in magazines such as Ellery Queen, Alfred Hitchcock and Cavalier and in anthology titles, including Modern Masters of Horror, The Dead Hate the Living, Night Visions 5 and The Second Abacus Book of Crime.

His novel Naked Came the Stranger was named Best Horror Novel of 1987 and short listed for the prestigious Bram Stoker Award, as was The Impalement of Rosemary Ward.

Michael Waspman is the author of more than twenty acclaimed novels, including
Salad Bar, Bullet Train to Heck, Rainy Wednesday, The Girl in Box 2 and Say Pretty for Me.

He lives in California with his mother Connie.

INTERIM #4: Ehe rWe





Friday, 1 May 2009

EIGHT RANDOM TWEETS by AARON HELD



Eight Random Tweets

by Aaron Held


Crime sand man walks in to a pole, “Ouch, lath token of dome, semen soft touch boon doggers.” I wish it was just a fantasy.

Django walks his pistol, fires caps and I announced we were engaged with sour puss and film canisters in hand. Lowly fellow saw up my skirt.

I feel alime, caught spring rabbles and I'm thyme, di TIm moine evelato umm Barrel swamp tack hole manhole.

fightlimenooksParrotsdebunksmearmustard'seattheplazaToenailaforeignpuddingLossBugge r on a kite. Talk about the saloon. Remington white lies. Y

Investigate forks you find.

don't mean separate, I said "girl with a dog is so strange."

deposit the fun, HEY!

You will like every inch of your perfect.




Aaron Held am open to all forms of art/anti-art, but mostly focused on making visual art. Am very passionate about video making, collage, alternative photography and drawing. A collage of mine was featur'd in the first Discharge chap "Be Serpentine, the Hyde", and I have just released my own free e-chap "The 'I' Hides the pink Upright sparkling". My work can also be found on Discharge 5, Google video/youtube and Blogspot.

INTERIM #3: Wig Convergence