INTERIM #5: 2i3x

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

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

BLUE BONE IN OCTOBER by DOMINIC F RAWLING

Blue Bone In October:

A Play In One Act by Dominic F Rawling


The Characters:

Murray Heap. 36 years old.

Vernon Theory. 25 years old.

Trudy Fahrenheit. 17 years old. (Long, blonde hair tied in a pony-tail. A tattoo reading 'Lord Of The Flies' on her left forearm. Chrome-coloured latex leggings and white knee-high stiletto boots. Belted ‘Choose Life’ tee shirt. Chain-smoking from a 20 pack of Gauloises Blondes).

The Scene:

A small bedroom: a single bed, an arm chair, a wardrobe with one door open.

The open door faces front, concealing what’s inside.

A life-size poster of Cliff Barnes (Ken Kercheval) from Dallas is on the wall next to the door.

Murray Heap sits on the bed.

Vernon Theory sits on the chair, smoking an American Bucks cigarette.

Both face the wardrobe.



Murray : How’s Algie?

Vernon : Algie?

Murray : Algie. How is he? Algie?

Vernon : Do I know him?

Murray : Sure. Algie. The one that was Transit Surfing in Colorado. Or somewhere.

Vernon : Oh. I thought you meant another Algie. The one who ate that jar of

mosquitoes.

Murray : Pineapples.

Vernon : What?

Murray : Pineapples. Well, pineapple chunks. It was a giant jar of pineapple

chunks. He ate the whole lot in, like, fifty-two seconds.

Vernon : I thought...well, I thought it was mosquitoes. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t

pineapple chunks.

Murray : No.

Vernon : Well (Pause). Well, well. A man could grow old totally ignorant, you know?

How about that.

Murray : Anyway. That was Derek. Derek did all that.

Vernon : So how is he?

Murray : Derek?

Vernon : Yes, Derek. How is he?

Murray : I Don’t know. Not yet. ( Long Pause)

Vernon : How do you mean..."not yet"?

Murray : Nothing. Nothing, really. I just meant that maybe someday I will know.

Vernon : Know what?

Murray : How Derek is.

Vernon : Well, what was it that Algie ate?

Murray : How do you mean?

Vernon : Well. Algie. If he didn’t eat the pineapples. And he didn’t eat the

mosquitoes. What was it that he ate?

Murray : Do you know, I’m not sure.

Vernon : About what?

Murray : About Algie. I’m not sure who he is. Or what it was that he ate.

Vernon : But you asked about him.

Murray : No. No I didn’t.

Vernon : Yes. Yes, you asked about Algie. I was here when you asked me.

Murray : Absolutely not. (Pause) No. (Pause) No, I asked you about the other Algie.

Vernon : What? (Long Pause) What other Algie?

Murray : The one that was in Colorado. The one that was Transit Surfing.

Vernon : Of course. (Long Pause) What are these? (Points to

something out of sight behind the bed).

Murray : What? ( Making no effort to lean forward to look) I can’t see.

Vernon : I can’t seem to pick them up. (Bending down). They’re attached to the floor.

Or maybe they’re very heavy.

Murray : Oh. Those are my Wolf Slippers.

Vernon : Ah, really. (Pause). So why are they attached to the floor? Is there some

strange reason for that? Did you nail them there? Or did they come attached?

Murray : It’s just that I rarely leave the room when I’m wearing them.

Vernon : Ah.

(After a long pause, Vernon, who has been staring intently into the wardrobe,

points).

Vernon : Who is that?

Murray : Trudy. That’s Trudy.

(Pause).

Vernon : Hello, Trudy.

Murray : Trudy, this is Vern. Well, Vernon.

Trudy (from inside wardrobe): Hi. Hi, Vernon.

Vernon : A pleasure. Really. A real pleasure. Honestly. (Pause) Well, I should be going,

anyway. Really, I should. (He puts his hands on his knees, but does not get up).

Murray : I thought you might stay a while. And talk. We could talk some more.

Vernon : Really, I ought to be away. I have an appointment. At the Diagrams Bureau.

You know.

Murray : (Quickly) We could talk about my calcium problems.

(Long pause. Vernon looks around the room, then back to the wardrobe).

Vernon : Hey. What’s that? (Points to something hidden from view behind the

Wardrobe).

Murray : What, that?

Vernon : Yes.

Murray : That’s my Blue Bone.

Vernon : Your what?

Murray : My Blue Bone.

Vernon : Oh. Your Blue Bone. I thought it was some kind of Bandage Display Case that

you might have found in your attic.

Murray : No. (Pause) I found that stone thing in the attic (points to something out of

view).

Vernon : What, that?

Murray : Yes. I think it may be some sort of Mysterious Toothbrush.

Vernon : Oh. (Pause) Where did you find it?

Murray : In the attic. I told you.

Vernon : No. No, the Blue Bone.

Murray : Oh, the Blue Bone.

Vernon : Yes.

Murray : I found that in October.

(Pause)

Vernon : Do you still have your Grood?

Murray : My Grood?

Vernon : Yes, your Grood. Do you still have it?

Murray : No.


Curtain.



Dominic F Rawling lives in North Devon with his wife & five cats. He has completed a novel Valium Avenue which is as yet unpublished. He is preparing to web-publish his eight-day diary from the Madrid Peace Talks in 1991, entitled Shit Imminent and is currently working on his second novel Bronze Planet and a novella called The Fiction Man.

He collects and deals in science fiction and pulp paperbacks and is one of the few people on the planet to own the entire series of Doc Savage novels.

INTERIM#2: Liix Djon

PHOTO ON A BOX OF A BLOOD PRESSURE/PULSE MONITOR by xTx

PHOTO ON A BOX OF A BLOOD PRESSURE/PULSE MONITOR

There is a photo on a box that houses a blood pressure/pulse monitor. A white haired woman with perfect teeth has her arms around the shoulders and chest of Steve Martin.

AUTOMATIC INFLATE

Everything in the photo is shades of white. Faded grays. Her fingernails are red like a fuck you, like a secret she’s trying to tell, like a hostage message. Her fingernails are the monster in the ice cubes.

ONE TOUCH OPERATION

Steve Martin is squinting like he's making the best of things; like he’s ‘holding up’ which is in opposition to the white haired lady's smile which reads like she's watching her grandchildren play or like someone just complimented her broccoli cheese casserole.

48 SET MEMORY

The picture is chest up. I feel it could truly be all there is. All there ever really is. The solidity of their embrace negating any use for legs, waist, feet; a conjoined human bust.

LARGE DISPLAY

Did I mention they are looking off camera? The blood pressure monitor helps them in their lives together. It sets the daily tone. "How is it today, honey?" she asks, setting down a fresh cup of coffee. "Fine dear. Fine," his lie punctuated by the rapid snarl of Velcro ripping.

COMFORTABLE NEW DESIGN

Steve Martin...making the best of things...knows his heart will explode soon. The lady with the red nails smiles with her perfect teeth not realizing she will be alone, picking bits of exploded heart off the floor with her fuck you fingernails.





xTx has been writing on the internet since roughly 2002. Look at places like Thieves Jargon, Cherry Bleeds, decomP, Dogzplot, Zygote or http://notimetosayit.blogspot.com/. xTx mourns the loss of Jeff Buckley and Freddy Mercury on a bi-weekly basis.

INTERIM #1: Irnnn Pr

THE ADVENTURES OF A SMALL, CERAMIC GIRAFFE IN TUDOR ENGLAND by BRADLEY SANDS

The Adventures of a Small, Ceramic Giraffe in Tudor England

by Bradley Sands

A small, ceramic giraffe goes outside to buy dish soup. Outside is Tudor England. Inside is a room with a high ceiling. The giraffe does not like the high ceiling. It intimidates him. It says, “My height is wasted on you, small ceramic giraffe.” Outside, Tudor England says, “I love you, small, ceramic giraffe.” But the small, ceramic giraffe cannot reciprocate this love. The small, ceramic giraffe does not even know Tudor England exists. How should he know? He has never seen Showtime’s original series, The Tudors. He does not know what Tudor England looks like. When the small, ceramic giraffe looks at Tudor England, all he sees is a junkyard. Having never seen The Tudors, the small, ceramic giraffe walks to the shop as loneliness and insignificance drips down his small neck.



Bradley Sands is the author of the novel, It Came from Below the Belt, and the editor of Bust Down the Door & Eat All the Chickens. His work has appeared in The Bizarro Starter Kit (Blue), Lamination Colony, No Colony, Opium Magazine, Robot Melon, decomP, susurrus, Thieves Jargon and elsewhere. Visit him at http://www.bradleysands.com/