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The Scum Gentry Alternative Arts and Media
The Scum Gentry Alternative Arts and Media - Latest Content
This Day You Will Be With Me in Paradise - Short Story by Jim Meirose

Math final exams are held at four p.m. Class meeting TTH eleven is assigned module ten. Be prompt. Rise please first. Obey promptly or face punishment. Mental of course; module ten, yes yes yes; memorize this. Immediately memorize this. No don’t roll. No don’t tuck under. The math final exam is today. Math final exams are held at four p.m. Rise now. Mouse rose in the dark. What time again did Rat say they’d meet in the library for today’s studying—No! came a voice. No came the voice at Mouse seated on the cold bed edge. The bunned-up hairy-eared craggy-faced simple normal-woman with a badge labeled Librarian number two on her Kelly green pilled-up business suit came up before him and said, You can’t come to my library again because get it get it g-e-t it, the math final is today—Mouse shot up...


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Ad hominem, esquire: by Joseph Kaminski

Ad hominem, esquire:

Professional unprofessionalism in today’s methods of online interaction and the sociopolitical echo chamber of social media


With social media usage at an all-time high, the opinionative nature of mankind is now broadcasted across the world at the mere click of a button. Nowadays, just about anyone with access to technology can be heard by the entire world. People go ‘viral’ thanks in part to a hive-mind-styled, systematic internet. If something is mildly interesting, funny, or informative it has the potential to be blown out of proportion...

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Outsider Art Gallery
The Room of the Sadistic Chimeras - Digital Collage - by Vesperalia

The Room of the Sadistic Chimeras - Digital Collage - by Vesperalia

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Dumpster RabbittZ part one - Fiction Serial by Bryan Higby and Ricky D. Snyder

Prologue



The CarLowDen Golf Course sat back in the trees somewhere between Jericho’s Junkyard and Chesterton’s Cemetery. Around these parts we call the cemetery a boneyard. There was a huge real-estate sign dug into the rutty green lawn advertising the land could be bought for a song. Looking at that old potter’s field one would never have guessed that presidents had played on those sprawling, once perfectly manicured lawns. Truman, Eisenhower, even tricky Dick had sunk their balls into the few dozen holes of the old forgotten CarLowDen Golf Course...


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Confessions of a Reluctant Anarchist by Michael Andoscia

I have to admit to a certain squeamishness when asked about my political affiliations. Part of this is due to the fact that my political beliefs are, at least as far as I am concerned, complicated. Another variable is that I’ve never been a joiner. Group dynamics have always made me uncomfortable because, very often, the consciousness that develops within the group conflicts with my individual consciousness to which I always defer. I also don’t like to be pigeonholed. I don’t want assumptions to be made about what I believe and what I support by virtue of my group assignation. I like to make up my own mind based on the available evidence.

“So, you ARE an anarchist!” one of my students exclaimed.

He was telling me that there was a rumour...

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   “Ball Ed V”                                             – Running Time
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Stannie the Dog - Short Story by Jim Meirose

Summer air music drift. What’s that from, where’s it from; it’s saxophone practice must be because it’s slow awkward and halting et cetera it’s from that slanting down sagging apart tiny empty blue house forever; but somehow it something I’ll remember one day too. That house there with that worn-out sign once shouting DOCTOR SAX MUSIC STUDIO—ALL INSTRUMENTS inside that rusted solid chain link all around we know the place boy we go past quite often but what’s wrong with the place? For years it’s been nothing but now this music says it is; sure, there’s never been sax there but someday there will be or maybe there once was and the wind must have hit me just right today to bring both together and that’s probably why we’re hearing it now. It’s just one more mystery we’ll never answer because it’s not worth it...


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The Negation of Nihilism by John Latham

“Capitalist production begets, with the inexorability of a process of nature, its own negation. It is the negation of the negation.” – Karl Marx cited by Engels, F. Anti-Dühring (1877)


The nineteenth century was an age of glorious optimism in the industrial nations. Liberals, anarchists and socialists thought that the future was a wonderful prospect. The Paris Commune had illuminated the imagination of rebels. Charles Darwin had liberated many people from superstition. Technology had developed fast. Grand ideologies like Marxism seemed to have coherence and the welfare state gained momentum in Germany. English hegemony over Ireland was on the wane. The patriarchy was also being questioned. But the twentieth century showed...

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Scum Gentry Radio
Scum Gentry Poetry Hole
This is My Life - poem by Mark McConville

Cocaine nightmares and hopelessness bind together,
To create a broken mind
And I’ve been sinking deeper into the abyss that I call depression
I can’t withstand the inner unhappiness and tendencies
I’m hooked on misery, serving up cocktails of pills to myself,
To try and drown out the unnerving memories.


She’s stuck in my mind like a splattered fly
Shovelling narcotics near the receptors
And my eyes flicker and I feel manic,
And mesmerised by daytime television for the first time
In my life.


There’s a man on there, saluting me for my actions,
As I climb this mountain in my head
It’s so high, I’m so high,
Looking outside this window,
Bellowing at fast cars and people fuelled on caffeine.


I sit back and begin to see dots
And faces of ugliness
I can’t begin to rationalise with myself,
I feel incomplete searching for the missing piece
Of the frame, of the puzzle, to click myself back into place.


I see nightmarish goblins now, showing their toothless mouths,
Their acid tongues and their sharp nails,
I’m frightened but also curious,
Do they bite?


I want to sleep away the poison and disconnect from unholy spirits
I want to be judged for my mental instability
And I fear I’m truly lost in isolation,
In a room with peeling paper and stacked up beer cans


This is my life.



Bio: Mark McConville is a freelance music journalist from Scotland. His work has appeared online and in print. He also loves to write dark poetry and fiction.


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Scum Gentry Poetry Hole
A Corner Turned - poem by John D. Robinson

‘You were collapsed in
the heap of shit that you
are, I found you when I
came home from work
at the bottom of the stairs:
our neighbours had tried
to rouse you and didn’t
know whether to call an
ambulance, you’re
beginning to become a
fucking mess and it’s
hurting me and I can’t
love you, it’s horrid’
she told me across the
cafe table; I was shaky
and couldn’t look at her,
I was self-pity and
pathetic and wondered
why she even bothered;
‘I thought you were dead,
neighbours thought
that too, they were
frightened, I was
fucking frightened’ she
said;
I looked into her eyes and
reached out a hand, she
looked down and then
away, she breathed
deeply and closed her
eyes before taking my
hand;
‘You’re killing the both
of us’ she said,
tightening her grip,
fighting back the tears.



John D Robinson is a UK poet: hundreds of his poems have appeared in the small press and online literary journals: his latest publications are ‘The Pursuit Of Shadows’ (Analog Submission Press (UK)2018) ‘Hitting Home’ (Iron Lung Press (USA)2018), while ‘Echoes Of Diablo’ was published by ‘Concrete Meat press’ (UK) in August 2018.



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