Sunday, October 4, 2009

The Inching Worm, etc -- Some Time with Mud Luscious 9

One of the things I like about Mud Luscious is that although it lacks a bit of user interface (can't click on each author or piece for example) it's easy to print out the entire issue (with other on-line journals this can be quite tedious.)

So, last night and this morning I've been reading the current Mud Luscious (number 9).

Another thing I really like about Mud Luscious is that their issues contain, for the most part,
writers I wasn't previously familiar with.

The following pieces really stuck out for me:

Apart with Other People (Kate Wyer)
Untitled. Diptych (Christina Farella) (especially the first half of the second half)
Obese with Armor (Cortney McLelland)
Other Sisters (Roxane Gray)
Concerning Your Holes (Gregory Sherl)

But the piece that really struck me is "In Five Sentences" by Kimberly E. Ruth.

In Five Sentences by Kimberly E. Ruth


we breathe controlled air. outside, the large mass of weightless, uncontrolled, matter takes recognizable form. i point to the inching worm in the distance. we spear through him with shiny blades and heavy wings. i am in the air now.


funny how the sun didn’t inform the flowers of its departure. they are stuck now, on this shade, like dried foundation on a towel. it's like a censored bedtime story illuminating shapes on the wall. a rooster looks down from a rooftop. close your eyes, you tell her.


i am witnessing the wind and it is moving empty shopping carts. i am reminded of you. you held me tight, once, here, in front of the eggs and condensed milk and i miss that. it is still cold here. a black cloud rolls over and it, too, reminds me of you.


there is too much air up here. the cross roads below don’t. i take out a ball of string, black in all its order, perfect in its shape. i try to tie myself to a cloud but it does not take. quick, grab a camera before the wind comes, he says.


he blew up my balloon and i held my breath. as it got bigger, so did my eyes, as though air were being blown into me instead of the balloon. i was filled with air. it was filling with air. i am in the car now and the window is down and the air is blowing and my hair is blowing and the balloon is dancing and mom says hold it still she can’t see behind her, so, i held it still.

Reading this piece over a couple of times, slowly, I thought, among other things, of Shane Jone's "Light Boxes" and Emily Kendal Frey's "Airport."

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