Month: July 2013


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Shelby Stephenson

Did Lord Bacon write the works attributed to Shakespeare?

I do not know much more than this: bacon’s
The back and sides of the shoat, cured by salting and drying.
(We had a salt-box in the right-hand corner of the corn-crib.)

I had an FFA project one time − a baconer.
Her name was Shelby’s Lady.
She was a pedigreed Duroc.
Billy Wright Stephenson grew her from a piglet to a nice-sized pig
And he brought her to me in a hog-box.

My word! Carolina Pride!
Oscar Mayer Delicious Hand-Trimmed, Super Thick Cut Applewood Smoked!
Hormel Natural Choice; Uncured Smoked Duck Bacon; FUD Tocino Original Sliced Bacon;
King Cotton Hickory Smoked Bacon; Wright Bigger, Better Bacon; My Essentials Hickory Smoked Bacon; Smithfield Naturally Hickory Smoked; Gwaltney Hardwood Smoked
Premium Sliced Bacon; Farmland Foods; Plumrose USA; Butterball Turkey Bacon; Tyson Foods; John Morrell; Blue Ribbon Bacon; Boss Hog Beef Bacon; Bacon Ranch Crunch; Bakon; Boar’s Head; America’s Favorite Bacon; Rogue-Voodoo-Bacon-Ale; Baconnaise; Candied Bacon.

I can hear my mother say
Shub, get me some streak of lean to cook with the turnips − fresh hogmeat’s better than cured.”
Frankly I prefer side meat − fatback.


Shelby Stephenson’s Family Matters:  Homage to July, the Slave Girl won the 2008 Bellday Poetry Prize, Allen Grossman, judge.

Three Poems by Seth Mirza

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Three Poems


Seth Mirza

bent cosmos

everything unwrapped

in a bent cosmos

none of this could really be true

we’re still waiting for something

to be true

we’ll keep waiting until the

cosmos shits itself

 $45 Silence

virus serves the severed flow…members severed served for several thousand years…past the retirement age…severed served…hold their heads up for all to see…severed past tense silent as if…sewage eyes sever gratitude…another example speaks death silence…bleeding appreciation in death tremor silence…for several thousand years…past inoculation ties luck shrinking and severed…viral testimony in wallets left on sewage stairs…sovereign of silence severs what we mean…nothing has changed at the center of $45 silence…dripping sewage in mists of fingertip silence…severely severed silence…in all sewage heads…tarnished ingrates careful not to tremble it’s all lowered death silence…mists picked up viral scan in perturbed lines of interlaced…appreciate our trembling thousand years…silence in severed shots…fading in death cuts out the game…$45 silence severed…present inexperienced virions…words as innocence left in the wallets of corpses hanging inoculation examples…if you press the right buttons…reconfigure the new viral line silence scan…blown circuit and silence shot…severed in red…testimony severed better while it works…far from the silence…seal silence & a severe flow past the pulse…severed sent…inoculate mutated strain lost in dial up flow…testimony now wasted as multiples scan silence…eager for results…loss of severed on silence pump…severed silence breaks the severe immune to infiltration of mutation mark…while severed scan eager for burn out flow…new coil virus lines not what they seem…probable flow process terminal severed testimony…severed sent to inspectors if…testimony mist severed with $45 silence in thousands of trembling…

wasn’t infinity the hammer cake?

Yet still the newest failures and the shit was turning from the belly and making a kind of finger drifting, wouldn’t calm it magisterially (say, numbing the wondering smile).  Wasn’t step to the stretches paid the same 3 soft hearts, the time?  Lightly, surprised beast—wasn’t infinity the hammer cake?  Nothing been or dog cries, in nothing grit, nothing every had here is it.  Exactly still Ur-Eternal and sidesplitting if about betrays on the way, loosely right alone too kind.  Slink creatures despise unfair.  Ha, rising again to drifting, so if right more secret sour, this we think bad sent facts, even still black you undergrowth half as precious.  Only to the ways spit-shape the worry.  Every quickly in hate, sometimes the same to secret this.  Could speak alone—a sidewalk.  And expecting breath of any miniature, move to think the ounces along.  Nothing clean will ever equal.


Seth Mirza was clinically dead for a period of 2 years in the early ’90s. His work has appeared in The Ampersand, Exit Wound, Kiss the Mongrel, Stuffed Trigger, Ambergris, Counterexample Poetics, and other publications.

Three Poems by Franco Cortese

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Three Poems 


Franco Cortese

Franco Cortese Original Formatting

Symbol: an illusion corresponding with reality.

which is synonymous with

Qualia: an incclusion core-as-ponding with Symbolity.
glitch fizz synthomenous with
Idea: a conclusive reclusion contrabonding with perception

stitch schis similonginus smith
Telos: collusive conchlesion cinderclocking with inner intention
pitch wiz sendrho??nous with

Man: a tillnewsion cornerdawning with man.

Switch dizz syn|om|men|nous myth
Ideal: an elusion corrodooring to highdea

ditch is Synthetomenous with
God: an allusion correspoding to Man.
(h)itch His Synhaptomenous with

Self: an occlusion corresporting rift intentional intension in inner-tension

niche quiz Synaptaxonous drift:

n’thorder side-step-Rerhesymbol interabred and threis-rhemoved: a reality corresponding with illusion.

9 symbiontic cellves interredeferrent and intradereferrent, seemingly unseemly, and equatable only be-cause of (that is to sway, due to to(o).0)) their diference
Symballistic Pheonix, his fiery flight fl(uid)edgingly afore, and why empty sk(e)ins rise, or;



.   .   .”Alright class, feel towards the front of the room; its high time to low suns we got started.” The teaching-one excre/A\ted in a signewsoi(da)l pphhfffpt! re(ass)embleming an at-tempt at communirelation with the rough assymblage of assemb(i)l(l)ed learning-ones. Today’s was a particularly enthusiastic pphhfffpt! which, could quales swim, would have sounded rather like what one expects a large number of very small piecilia of wet flesh flapping against themselves would sound like if ears could hear themself hearing(./ themself.).   .   .

is                     am big u o us

es                    I A.M1 big, you owe us2

as                     I(=)AM(=)B(=)I(=)G3.  uous4
Intermittent Torsoe Notes1
1: P.M – with each diurnal revolt we rise and fall to hump time into existence [which is synonymous with itself].
2: a.) having not amassi’ved the self, you owe the messy masses.
b.) “you” and us as owing.
b.n) other as duty as perversely-inversed techne-ques of ontic legitimation
3: That is, I be G. A given god remade through the sun haunted by his holey ghost.
3.n: P.S –  I am G b.c I am an I.
4: nous with it(‘)s firstmost butt end fully-revol(u)ted downside up

– –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  – – – – – –  – –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  – – – – – –  – –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  – – – – – –  – –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  – –
Bifurcational Footnotes1, 2
1: Note to somelsewhenself: Next time leave more headroom for the footnotes, even at expense of the main body.

Fractal Footware
1: I didn’t know feet could cum equipped with prosthetic phalli (such being the industry-standard apparatus for bifurcation).
2: Does Meta count if generality unfurls from the slick folds of down-undher rather than bedrock on high? Or does it mettar?

Torsoe Notes on Iabatcoyauio                    
/ [zero? pointless? re-pet-i(-)t-i’ve al a et               .
/al. rectal examplea? A hole in the symbolground?.
/                                                                                 .
o.s  is  us  is  es  is  as I am big, and the center of you and us is   O
\                                                                                .
\  The fat lady’s grave? A li(m)pid distinction       .
\between inside and out? The chaste-hall(-)owed
forbid(-)den butt(-)on?

An una-bashed series if ideoughtomatic deigressions:
The Janus-phasespace and Manus-interface of abstraction is rather large, (esp.) after all.
And what am I if not a phases(-)pace, or at least a series of phases and places?
Were the toetaptoptipped ends of an I originally oppositionally pointed arrowheads that 1 gought jailous ov and sew flattened them out, much as the column below him, supposting his bust?

:Uni-Verse-All Touring De-Vice:
Computer, or telecommuter? Telecomputer perhops? Recruiter-tutor or looter-scooter?
Indee(d/p): suitor, cooter, or neuter? Trans
(-)gen(.)derbender refuter perhappens?

We should think (of/as/with) the brain

Not as computer, which without

Us |as well| isn’t really sane.

A brain is not sum clean smithroute

Of austere schemechantics lain

Without ambigrewency flout;

A brain beholds what doth not remain;

A brain is frontfuzzy mythdoubt,

Wa(i)s) doubt to conquer doubt’s plain bane.

A brain a disingenuious lout!

Self e’er-air was the will to feign,

Is whence and hence in bout

Aterminal-eternal. Pain

Is blaine is brain (even without

Re{-}ceptors for such), and in Cain

Lies our virtue – an exi’ll clout

And jea|lousy sickness ‘tward vain

Conceit the coredoor of God stout

With deimon(ad)ism(e): cane;

A thickness of narrowtude. Spout

F(o)r(o)thed recombinatory ræin

F(o)r(o)thed in stead of deter(-)mined drought.

A brain not a complexcit strain

Of computer; Janus about-

Face: computer but(t) an arcane


And holey rudi|mental vein

Of brain just as mason and grout

is house as symbol as deft chain

Between insulated winds ~scout

As disincarnate eyes to rein

The unconnectable about

Itsunself and to teletain

That that cannot be/held allout

In the hand and manned (or contained

Separatelly) by man revout

By man’s own man(a)us mindomain;

As utile emptiness throughought;

A placed spaceholder to obtain

Amb(igrow)sia well and devout

Menterrain the sacred profane.

A brain is a route rout-wrote out

Upon itsinself; both æroplane

(Not steamlined but streamwhorled ‘round about)

Whose lift its thrust – camping its campai(g)n –

And the (more or less?) plainguage tout

Deferred reference e(n)v(ir)oplane

(Axiomating axes pout

Like lips lapped into else trueout)

And again an again in again

Out throughout an(d) out in(side) out.

Computer a weak brain a glout

Interverted rather than constrained

Alternativertive, fallout

Smelter just as yore ol’ chaingrained

Mechanima lattices out

To m(i.e)m(i.e)tic mind – just as shout

Of language bounding in(-/ )germane

Symbol grounding qualia sprout

From base reaction an uroute.


I’m a Canadian Futurist, Author, Editor and Poet, a weekly columnist for H+ Magazine and a regular contributor to the Institute for Ethics & Emerging Technologies. I also write for, Immortal Life and The Rational Argumentator. Additionally, I’m an advisor for Lifeboat Foundation, on their Futurists Board and their Scientific Advisory Board (under Life-Extension).

Take It All Away

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Take It All Away


Rebecca Corshia

There you give me freedom but I don’t need it anymore,
Fake. You are illusionary,
Transcendence into a block of coal,
Cloaks black as a kettle burnt from the evening
Mocking strive for design, not neglect.
Intellect calls for us a great deal of patience.

Away to take the train there lays a great bank of gravel
Trying to crawl away the bird lies dead and is buried
By its lover.
The strength of the people is amiss and there is not one to care
Under-covering the blank dilemmas is a horrible task.
Great is the one who calls for us to be better
Then we shrink and hover and stretch
Until there is a great young tent concealing
Our insecurities and strengths.
The flounder is jealous.

I call upon the ancient powers to create within me a pure heart.
A sin upon a sin, how can one be alive, free, and naked?
Naked, we crawl as a great whale laughs in our faces,
Stress, coward, real, raw, sex, creation is nothing.
There is a law that condemns those who feel
The call and play dead.

My name is Becky Corshia. I am entering my junior year at Gordon College Wenham, MA studying Psychology. I was part of a research study on power posing that won the Undergraduate Research Symposium in the Social Sciences Category. My interests lie within the fields of clinical psychology and counseling. I involve myself in researching human behavior, teaching roles, educational reform, cross-cultural situations, and promoting awareness about mental health issues. I write stream-of-conscious poetry and prose to process my own thoughts and emotions.