No Tell Books: Cadaver Dogs, by Rebecca Loudon

This instruction is holy.
–Rebecca Loudon, from ROMANCE #1 IN G MINOR

Cadaver Dogs, by Rebecca Loudon

Cadaver Dogs is the rib  Adam never forgot.
Cadaver Dogs is your outside voice, inside. Having sex.
Cadaver Dogs will not self-medicate.
Cadaver Dogs is a chalk outline on asphalt. Children are nearby.
Cadaver Dogs is not a right, it’s a necessity.
Cadaver Dogs is the wheel that came off the trolley and landed in your soup. Small trolley, big soup.
Cadaver Dogs is female.
Cadaver Dogs is not blameless.
Cadaver Dogs tells secrets
is relentless
knows you like your skin
Cadaver Dogs is an anatomist’s waking dream.
Cadaver Dogs wants you.
Cadaver Dogs won’t tell anyone, will tell everyone, requires hydration, could compromise well-being.
Cadaver Dogs is sacred.
Cadaver Dogs cannot be ignored.

Beehive is sick of all your poetry bullshit

Beehive Magazine has sent out a new call for submissions, and it goes a little something like this:

We need stuff to publish on the website and we are sick of all your poetry bullshit.

Here are the new guidelines:

If you think your piece of writing is profound or beautiful or zen or ironically unimportant or whatever, we don’t want it.

What Beehive is seeking is the stupidest irrelevant bullshit you have ever written/drawn/taken a picture of (whatevs). This means your dumb drawings during class, the syntaxy drippings of your blacked-out mind, space aliens, blood splatter, stuff you obviously didn’t write, pictures of your children (or other people’s children), pornography, scanned objects, failed craigslist ads, essays with all your teacher’s corrections scribbled on top, a list of all your bathroom contents, blueprints, schematics, graphs, charts, crayon drawings.

Really just anything you don’t care about.

The deadline is right now.

Sounds good. I like a lot of the stuff they have already, by folks like Alexandra Lukens, Michelle Puckett, Alexandra Ran, Kyle Hemmings, and especially Theresa Stefeniak of which I further post a sample:

Disfortunate
Theresa Stefaniak

tell me about your osmosis

about getting gobbled up by weather

I want to breathe wet

a slight chance of rain showers

in the end, bacon won the prize

katana swords make men (into) dinner

he’s going to bring cool catness back

baby loves digable planets

what about the assemblage of gingerbread?

Shakespeare takes a brand new job

if nothing foes wrong against horse thieves

or the dignified quality of an opera box

the Adult Services of a California blonde

indulge & unwind- New York Style

Her even rot

Two things that have one thing in common but are great by themselves:

Black by Andrew Borgstrom at Abjective

AND

Ohey! by Darby Larson at Wigleaf

Get out of the bullet

The Dove
Djuna Barnes

THE DOVE: There are enough people preventing things, aren’t there?
VERA: Yes — that’s why you frighten me.
THE DOVE: Because I let everything go on, as far as it can go?
VERA: Yes, because you disturb nothing.
THE DOVE: I see.
VERA: You never meddle –
THE DOVE: No, I never meddle.
VERA: You don’t even observe as other people do, you don’t watch. Why, if I were to come up to you, wringing my hands saying, “Amelia has shot herself,” I don’t believe you would stand up.
THE DOVE: No, I don’t suppose I would, but I would do something for all that.
VERA: What?
THE DOVE: I should want to be very sure you wrung your hands as much as possible, and that Amelia had gotten all there was to get out of the bullet before she died.

Somewhere between

Caleb Charland, 15 Hours

Wonder is a state of mind somewhere between knowledge and uncertainty. –Caleb Charland

Bed crumbs of all ages spiled

My Bed is Covered Yellow
Peter Orlovsky

        My bed is covered yellow – Oh Sun, I sit on you
Oh golden field I lay on you
Oh money I dream of you
More, More, cried the bed – talk to me more -
Oh bed that taked the weight of the world -
        all the lost dreams laid on you
Oh bed that grows no hair, that cannot be fucked
        or can be fucked
Oh bed crumbs of all ages spiled on you
Oh yellow bed march to the sun whear yr journey will be done
Oh 50 lbs. of bed that takes 400 more lbs-
        how strong you are
Oh bed, only for man & not for animals
        yellow bed when will the animals have equal rights?
Oh 4 legged bed off the floor forever built
Oh yellow bed all the news of the world
        lay on you at one time or another

1957, Paris

“Any one for shoes”

Andy Warhol

Why his life

Arunas Kulikauskas

Robot Dog
Kyle Hemmings

He asked the robot dog he built why his life was so rancid with despair and posterior piercing truths, but the bitch rambled on with fuzzy logic conditionals and said for him to get a teddy bear with eyes that glowed in the dark.

–as seen in Artifice, Issue #1

No, nobody

Ann Cole

Love this like a blanket.

Doll Fight

Some dolls.