Carlos. That was his name. Dante recognized him from school. He had enrolled last year, having come from somewhere in South America. He was always reserved, never really speaking unless spoken to, Dante figured it was because his English wasn’t perfect. He recalled the one time he had spoken to Carlos in class, making a snide remark about the workload, receiving in return a mere nod and smirk of agreement. He sat across from Dante in the waiting room. Dante wondered why he was in the hospital. …


From deep inside the womb he crawls

His mother clenches way too hard

Bone-to-skull two pops tight squeeze

Birthed a boy whose eyes can breathe

What once was full now is hollow

His sockets lost what they must swallow

On his face two gaping holes

And just down sight two dangling balls

Helix looked up from his paper, then back down, then back up again at the board. His hand making a slight rotation in unison with each glance. To the right of his eye, a Mercator projection of our sacred sphere, worn from decades of abuse from restless teenagers…


It’s late, 2 AM to be precise. The room is dark. The only light spills in from the streets, from the neon signs of vape shops and the incandescent glow of the streetlamps. Four faces are dimly lit, facing each other, revealing themselves for brief moments as the cherry of their cigarettes get brighter during inhale. The air in the room is thick with the smoke of tobacco. On the table between them rest two ashtrays, one is full, they are working on the other.

The space is calm, breathing, coming to life as the four men punch back cigarette…


Ed shoots straight up out of bed. His breathing is short and hard. He gazes around the room to find himself in a sea of white. White walls, white dresser, white bedside table, white sheets, and a white wife beater to top him off. A surge of urgency overwhelms him and he launches out of the bed at the dresser. His stomach crashes into the dresser, and his face lurches forward towards the mirror, almost touching it. Staring right back at him is his own plain face; it’s white with wrinkles, plain brown eyes, and short cut greying hair. He…

Mista Divine

Reach down your throat, for the vocal chord slime. Reach into your mind, pour les langues du divine.

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