Author: Director

Song of the Week
15/10/19
A dark invitation to a waltz through the aching tunnels of the heart—with hip notes of Americana speakeasy swing and raucous gypsy jazz—Dreaming of the Eastern Clan by three-piece multi-instrumentalists cua is a perfect introduction to the deliciously syncretic approach...

Short Fiction
Jenny Butler
The unmistakable stench of death drew the flies. The contrast was striking, black fly bodies swarming around light pink plastic rollers in a mass of bloodied hair. Blowflies laid their eggs in the woman’s eyes and mouth in the limited fly-knowledge...

Short Fiction
Jonah Howell
After a long struggle which left small red indentations in most of the fingers on his right hand, Abe wrenched the keyring from the pocket of his Wranglers, shook out some unidentifiable dust and stray tobacco shavings, untangled the floppy rubber...

Poetry
James Diaz
a summons from the crows across town the lonely lean into quiet walk two-step hollow into the fading light misfortune motel and everyone knows this is how it goes for them too you wake up one day not at all like how you thought you’d be huddled around a...

Talk Radio Podcast
The Lat Late Show Presents
The Lat Late Show takes the form of a series of shortwave radio transmission sent across the astral planes from a home Pole (dimension) known as “The Monkey Room Behind the Closet”. These transmissions are segmented radio...

Short Fiction
Jonathan Darren Garcia
Rosemary Journal #1 4/Virgo/2009 . I tried to kill myself. Still, I lay here like a rigid stone etched with scars and without pulse. It’s been rough getting that out, even on here. It was a moment of weakness on my part. I...

Poetry
Michael P. Lefanto
They’re gonna leave me laying in my body waste diapered in bed. Waiting for the loser of the, no it’s your turn I did it the last time argument, to come upstairs and change me. . No doubt I’ll end up begging them, to let me please...

Short Fiction
Patrick Karl Curley
Staring out the window, Sebastian saw the brash, orange sun of early morning set fire to the tails of trailing clouds. He saw three quarrelling grackles swirling downward to the scorched ground; the tortured, singed grass; the ragged reeds and...

Poetry
Matthew Borczon
My special needs son is laughed at and bullied in school because when he gets upset he either explodes into curses and anger or he cries displaying what his therapist calls his emotional real age the other kids find either response hilarious and a distraction from their school day so they push his buttons until the show begins...