Beyond the detritus of the warp-ship graveyards, against the dizzying backdrop of the cosmos, the god child Qualito floats forwards and bowls a gas giant.
The rest of us godlings hang back in a huddle and watch the shot play out. Vapours hang behind the missile in effervescent trails. The gaseous projectile arcs through space and begins to spiral. It comes to rest in a stable orbit, barely a million miles from the target star.
Continue reading Godlings By Martin Garrity
It is business as usual at the Hampton Lounge on a random Tuesday evening toward the close of this most regrettable year, two-thousand and fourteen. The Hampton is an upscale martini bar which ekes out its meager existence amid the raunchy nightclubs of Washington, DC’s Adams Morgan strip. Tourists mostly avoid the Hampton which offers no entertainment, unless the term is defined to include staring drunk-eyed at the widescreen above the bar or at the patrons themselves, as sorry a group of aging hipsters as you’ll ever encounter.
“Miss McBride, in all my years of representing clients whom other less well attuned legal brains would turn down as unwinnable, I have never come across one single case I could not win.” He pursed his lips. Continue reading Pick Your Brain By Jenny Thomson
By Jason Michel
Well now, … in the tradition of being a right contrary bastard, the 
magazine that swears not to feature poetry is going to, not only feature two of them there “poems” but also, interview one of them there “poets“.
Continue reading As Long As She’s Here : An Interview With Mike Meraz
“Angelina”
Spoken in a whisper.
Whistling through the sorrow stained alleyways of my memories on the wings of drunken white doves.
That name.
That girl.
*CURTAIN RISE*
Erin had tried heroin for the first time a month ago. She had liked doing drugs since high school. She thought the word “heroin” sounded a lot like her first name, so she figured that was a good enough reason to do it. She soon discovered that heroin made her extremely happy, and she enjoyed being an addict. At that moment, though, she was pissed. Her downtown hot dog stand cart was out of Continue reading Hot Dogs And Heroin By Chris Stucchio
The day I bought the Arachna Cam, Fly got his job as a cop. My brother used to say we weren’t related, that I was something that had crawled out of our mother’s womb and infested the house. What kind of a fucking name is Florean? I called him Fly after the time I made him eat one. It was pregnant and he had little maggots crawling out of his mouth as I clamped my hand over his jaw. I used to kick my brother while he watched TV. Asshole. Cop. Maybe he was right.
William Major stalked the lobby like a Peter Lorre facsimile, eyes bulging exaggeratedly as he surveyed the other applicants. The nearest actor looked as if the audition had accelerated his sloppiness, while sat beside him were a row of similar looking men who filed away into identical scruffiness.
Major sighed, wondering how the hell he’d let such people overtake him in his career.
“Bill?”
“William,” he corrected.
A young woman with braces smiled at him through clenched metallic teeth, desultory laughter exiting the function room behind her. Just a horror movie, he reminded himself.
I’m sitting at home waiting to get picked up and Ed is late so I’m on my fifth whisky & ginger and then the phone rings and it’s Ed and he says we’re fucked because Charlie Potatoes got stabbed to death outside Quinto’s Wine Lodge last night and then he hangs up.
Once again, Frank checked his exterminator’s suit for insects. That was how the redbugs got you. They landed on your clothing or your skin, and within 24 hours the poison on their legs and feelers ruined you. Rash, fever, seizures, skin necrosis, death.
PULP METAL MAGAZINE 