Farewell TransmissionBy Sophia Popovska
Sophia Popovska is a poet and translator currently living in Germany. She works as an Editor-at-Large for Asymptote Journal, and her work can be found in Circumference Magazine, GROTTO Journal, and Farewell Transmission, among others
By Michael Gerard
Spikes on Your Lapel
Spikes on your lapel
Rocks popping
Trucks stopped
Slugs draped in
Vinegar finesse
Limbs trudging
Across outhouse
Doorways
Snake oils of
Reputable sources
Heaven sent critical
Acclaim dropped in
Your lap, slit from my
Decrepit gums and rotting
Cortex,
Can you smell the bile?
Till the filth?
Carcass stains on the
Living room floor
And all over the
Entrance rug
Look at me and my
Jumpy nouns
What a party
For you
Edgy types
****
Indeed
I’m a fucking loser and a bozo
Indeed
Hanging from the dry cleaner
Rack sipping winner’s champagne
Of beers like a broke ass painter
Of houses in the suburban desert
Stuffing dry snuff up his nostril
Puffing through the apple pipe he found
Behind the Texaco station
I’m a fucking charlatan and a fraud
Indeed
No sense in dropping in tonight
I won’t be home and neither will my
Bitterness, as I bring it with me everywhere
I go
Michael Gerard is the author of Rust on the Water Tower, Rust as a Constant, a poetry booklet published through Gob Pile Press. His poetry has also been featured in publications such as The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts and Literary Yard and he is the author of books of fiction such as Switchboard Rot (Anxiety Press) and After All (Sweat Drenched Press). Michael currently resides in Kansas City.
By Jon Berger
Valentine’s Day
Pothole emergence time
Miles Teller drives down to Detroit
Miles Teller refers to Detroit as NPC land
An NPC
Driving an NPC car
Ass packs an asphalt truck
You know the type
The road crew who shovels asphalt into the potholes on the highway
The asphalt is hot and steaming and molten and black
They take up a lane of traffic and have a giant blinking arrow sign on the back of the truck
But the NPC people cannot see the Asphalt truck
Miles Teller keeps driving on I 96
Because this happens all the time in Detroit
Miles Teller Hates Detroit
Miles Teller Hates Traverse City
Miles Teller lived in Traverse City when he was too young to remember
He moved because a bunch of Detroit people bought second homes in Traverse City
And Miles Teller’s family could not afford to live there anymore
Now
Driving in Traverse City
Is just like driving in Detroit
Miles Teller drives everywhere in Michigan
In every condition
Miles Teller can feel the curvature of the earth when he drives
Miles Teller drives a delivery van with over 300,000 miles on it
With brakes that go to the floor
Miles Teller delivers tools or parts or some bullshit to machine shops
Miles Teller does not know what he is delivering
Ever
Miles Teller’s boss
Sits in his office and watches
Right wing conspiracy theory videos
On YouTube
Miles Teller’s boss owns a bunch of tactical guns
Miles Teller’s boss doesn’t know anything about tactical guns
Miles Teller had to tell his boss which caliber of bullet each gun shoots
Miles Teller only owns two old hunting rifles
That were given to him by family
Miles Teller’s boss is an NPC
Miles Teller’s existence is an unbearable burden on the world
Just ask everyone in the world
Everyone yells at Miles Teller and tells him what to do
All the time
Miles Teller gets yelled at everyday
When Miles Teller gets back from Detroit, he has to figure out what all this paperwork from Detroit means
Nobody else knows what the paperwork means and the order for the tools is always wrong and Nobody knows why
Miles Teller is standing in the warehouse and all these people start crawling out of their cubicles To yell at Miles Teller as a group crucifixion activity
Miles Teller gets accused of stealing parts for CNC and Mills and Lathe Machines
Miles Teller doesn’t know what CNC, Mills and Lathe Machines are
Miles Teller did not steal the parts
And even if he did, he would not know what to do with them
Miles Teller imagines that if he did steal the machinist parts, he would try to create a giant mech Robot in his basement and use the robot to gain freedom
When Miles Teller gets yelled at, he doesn’t do anything
He just stands there motionless and without expression
But his eyes change
Miles Teller’s eyes sink in and become pot holes
They don’t see anything in front of them
Instead
They see tentacles reaching up from the dark below
They see a beast sunk so far down it has intertwined with the core of the earth and the earth can’t get rid of this beast and overtime the earth has learned to rely on the beast for survival
The tentacles shoot up from the core of the earth and through Miles Teller’s feet and then out of Miles Teller’s eyes and the end of the two tentacles have mouths and inside the tentacle’s mouths Are serrated teeth. The mouths open and hiss and venom drools down to the floor and one of the tentacles chomps off the head of a sales person and another tentacle chomps off the head of someone who works in the billing department
This makes everyone feel uncomfortable around Miles Teller
Miles Teller’s boss calls him into his office and tells him that he can’t shoot evil tentacles out of his eyes and bite people’s heads off anymore. If he keeps doing it, he will be fired
Miles Teller reminds his boss that he makes the same amount of money as unemployment benefits provide
The eyes of Miles Teller’s boss are not connected to the beast at the center of the earth. Instead, they’re connected to a cotton candy machine at a community center downtown
Hot Pink and Baby Blue cotton candy blooms out of Miles Teller’s bosses’ eyes. His boss screams in terror and tries to keep the cotton candy from spilling out
While this is happening Miles Teller begins to tell his boss how a junkie has recently stolen sentimental belongings from his mother, who is sick
Miles Teller’s boss is sobbing now and the cotton candy is coming out of his eyes and is getting wet and deflating kinda like how cotton candy does when you eat it. But instead of saliva its tears
Miles Teller tells his boss he needs to take a couple days off work to locate the junkie and get the stolen items back or get revenge
Miles Teller is good at locating people like this
Miles Teller still has lawyers call him and ask him to locate people for them but Miles Teller hates lawyers
Miles Teller is owed favors by the most bellicose spirits in the cosmos
Miles Teller’s boss wretches his head back, holds the sides of his head and screams in agony as more cotton candy comes out of his eyes and melts from his tears and runs down his stupid face
Miles Teller’s boss shoos him out of his office and tells him to do whatever he wants
Miles Teller leaves work
It is a blizzard outside
Miles Teller’s Ford Fiesta is stuck in the snow
Miles Teller furiously shovels snow out from around his piece of shit car
Once unstuck, Miles Teller drives down the decrepit and abandoned and snowy streets
The icy shovel is in the back seat of his car. Ice is melting off the shovel and getting the seats
Wet
Miles Teller has thoughts of taking the shovel and digging all the way down to the core of the Earth and untangling the beast and bringing it up to the surface
___
Jon Berger lives in Saginaw, MI. His short story collection GOON DOG is available at Gob Pile Press. His poetry collection SAINT LIZARD is forthcoming at Gob Pile Press. He tweets @bergerbomb44.
By Scott Mitchel May
Notes From The Scene
We found a pear.
We found it near the lobby’s desk and it was chewed.
Chewed and also rotten.
By the time we found it.
She was behind the lobby’s desk.
She had a gunshot wound to the head and the bullet was lodged in the wall behind the desk, behind where she was standing.
Unclear if she was given a chance.
Supine.
Peaceful.
I’m so sick of this shit, this cocked-up shit; the whole world is full of this cocked-up shit.
We found a tooth.
In a drawer.
Of the desk.
Renaud says it’s a baby tooth.
Bagged and logged into evidence; file #46568.
Other than that, nothing of note.
I hate
The Doins’ Within the Room
“He said he was comin’, so he is comin’. Watch cable and chill the fuck out.”
“My momma says don’t trust nothin’ you can hold and I can’t hold HBO and I can’t hold happy-horse-shit.”
“Your mama was an ignorant Gypsy whore.”
“Be that as it may…”
“He’s comin’”
“When?”
“When what?”
“When he gets back from the place.”
“What place?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
“What place?”
“The gettin’…”
A knock at the door snags his attention and eases her mind. There is a green-yellow light outside and the shadow it casts against the cement looks about right for who they are expecting. They hold still. Quiet. The rate is $7.50/hr. They are running low on time.
“Get it, damn you!”
“Well, now how do we know it’s him back from the place?”
“How do we know? Who the fuck else is it gonna be?”
“Intruders.”
“What do we got so good that intruders would want to intrude upon it?”
“We got the stuff; when he gets back.”
“He ain’t back. Or, he is but we ain’t let him in. Either way, we ain’t got the stuff.”
“They could know we gettin’ the stuff. They could be knocking and anticipatin’ us gettin’ the stuff. We answer, they hit us, we wait with them, then, when he shows, they kill us and him and take the stuff.”
“You are a dumb-fuck.”
“Ok.”
“Yeah, ok.”
He answers the door and when it opens wide enough he is hit on his head with the butt end of a Maglite Flashlight that takes four D Cell batteries and is knocked unconscious and They come through the room’s door with guns drawn which they use to glue her to the bed and they yell “Don’t move a fuckin’ hair or I’ll…” and the rest she misses because she’s watching him bleed and she’s thinking that this is the stupidest time for him to be fucking be right about something he speculated on.
Notes from the Scene
Her dress is hiked up and she’s not wearing underwear.
They never tell you how you’ll feel in the academy about such things.
Roderick finds a shed pubic hair three feet away but it’s brown and hers are yellow.
Fuckin’ hourly rate shit-hole.
A casing is found.
.22.
Varmint round.
Must’ve put it right to her forehead.
No explaining it otherwise.
A chill to the air.
Her face is pocked with a lifetime’s regret.
Her teeth are a shattered ruin.
No witnesses.
No one left around.
The no vacancy light is on.
The rats know when to do their thing and go.
Rm 465 has been swept.
A bowl of pears was found.
More Doins’ Within The Room
“I keep tellin’ everyone he ain’t back! He took the money and he left.”
“That he did.”
“You got money! You got dope!”
“We ain’t got shit!”
“He’s right.”
“Don’t you motherfuck to me!”
“I ain’t motherfuckin’ to nobody! If I was high, you’d know it.”
“We wait.”
“I told you…”
“Shut the fuck up, Leonard!”
“All I’m sayin’ is I never get credit for when I’m right.”
“I tell you plenty!”
“You never tell me squat!”
“I tell you all the damn time, you just ain’t listen!”
“Never say you’re sorry neither…”
“Well, I’m sorry you got us hogtied, that’s for sure.”
“I hate you so much.”
A knock at the door. He is back from the place from which things are gotten. One of them bites a pear. They answer.
Notes from the Scene
Three bodies upstairs.
All shot in the head.
Three .22 casings
Looks like four coffee mugs.
They were waiting a while.
No clue who did this.
Three males.
Drug-related.
Coke, likely.
Three out of state Drivers Licenses.
God damn it.
Nothing left to do but the paperwork.
See you down the road a piece, Scumbags.
___
Scott is the author of the short story collection DeKalb Illinois is a Paradise What Eats Its Own (Alien Buddha 22), the novels Breakneck: or it happened once in America (Anxiety Press 23) and Awful People (Death of Print Feb 24), and the novelette All Burn Down (Emerge Press Oct 23). His short stories and essays have appeared in many magazines across the internet.
By Bram Riddlebarger
Mariner Market
Cannon Beach, Oregon
“Why don’t you guys wait outside?”
Less question than directive.
“I’ll get the tide map and be out in a minute.”
I grabbed my son’s hand and left without any beer.
I saw a pair of seagulls in the parking lot in the back of a truck. The truck had a cap, but the rear window was missing. The gulls breached the entry. A mound of household goods filled the bed.
“Get all your stuff and get out!”
“But I don’t want to.”
The gulls rummaged the debris. The larger gull dislodged a package of Tide washing machine tablets. The gull tossed the Tide, but the Tide stayed in.
No one paid any attention to the gulls. Everyone in Cannon Beach was used to the tide coming in and out every day.
Making no headway the bird tried to fly, but the Tide was too heavy. The small gull got in on the action. Crows swooped down. A group of tourists murdered the saltwater taffy across the street.
I shooed the gulls away.
The gulls asked who was going to do their laundry now. I tossed the package through the invisible rear window.
“Get all your stuff and get out!”
She held the tide map in her hand.
“But I don’t want to.”
Buckling up I saw the owner of the truck, a case of beer like a household good, thwart the gulls of their soapy desire.
I wondered out loud what would make those gulls so fixated on that Tide.
My youngest daughter said
“They longed for that Ocean Breeze.”
___
Bram Riddlebarger lives in SE Ohio. He’s written a number of books including Golden Rod and A Settled Ship in an Ocean of Hills. “Gulls” will be in a forthcoming collection titled The Way It All Must End.