Posts Tagged ‘ VIII.II ’

Defenestration: August 2011

Aug 20th, 2011 | By

Welcome to the August 2011 issue of Defenestration.

An interesting (and true!) story about editing this issue*. After I stitched all the stories, poems, photos, and biographies together into the standard layout, I printed out a copy. Apparently my wife had accidentally loaded up the printer with a bunch of discarded drafts of old Ben & Winslow strips**. So as I’m editing the issue, these light pencil sketches keep showing up behind the content, like the ghosts of cartoon characters. The first page of Lawrence Barker’s “A Stinking Rose by Any Other Name,” for example, contains a half-drawn Apsara Williams in a tank top, which I found fitting because the first paragraph uses the word “attention-whores.” Several other pages have faceless proto-Bens and proto-Winslows cavorting on them. One of the proto-Winslows was fondling his breasts.

“Xujaa, Guerrera, T’Qnna,” by Autumn Hayes

Aug 20th, 2011 | By

I want an X in my name
or a Q with no U, followed by Z
or maybe K

Not a snaggle-toothed-stepsister name, though,
simply smiling, six warts on its nose
a chipped, rusty ax behind its back

“Appendicitis,” by Mason Johnson

Aug 20th, 2011 | By

We walk down the street
hand in hand
on our mediocre date
when you explain that
not one, not two, but three!
of your friends have recently had appendicitis,
their organ bursting inside of them.

“Riddled,” by Marit Ericson

Aug 20th, 2011 | By

Jan and I went to a masque as each other.
We swapped interiorities, bandied psyches
about. Hell has indeed frozen over: I’m nice
for once, said Jan-as-me. I grinned, Janly.

“Huck Elvis,” by John S. Fields

Aug 20th, 2011 | By

Huck—Huck Elvis, I’s reck’n you jis tip the raf o’ve wit dat shak’n.
Hang it all, Jim.

Two Poems by Kyle Hemmings

Aug 20th, 2011 | By

I would never compare
you to a cookie
falling from the sky
a pure Oreo
or a virgin Lorna Doone,
unbitten, only flaky at the edges,
me, running to catch you
before you crumble.

“Baby Dedication,” by Kenneth Cernik

Aug 20th, 2011 | By

When Jonathan was born, I knew that something inevitable was coming. It was something that I dreaded more than anything else. It was something so sinister, so evil, so clearly designed to oblige a parent to act against their will just to fit in. It was the baby dedication.

I wanted my baby to walk this earth with Jesus by his side; don’t get me wrong. But I didn’t want to have to tell everyone in the church because quite frankly, it gets boring hearing all of these people wish the same thing for their kids. However, I wrote the dedication, and I gave it in front of the congregation with the pastor standing by my side. It was all for the sake of baby Jonathan.

“House Arrest,” by Elizabeth Alexander

Aug 20th, 2011 | By

Although Alison eventually made her debut at the Idlewild Ball, she was not to the castle born; moreover, when Dr. Grum called Alison his “little princess,” we thought of Elinor Donahue on Father Knows Best, who made us gag. We were not particularly rebellious, but we were savagely curious, and curiosity killed the cat.

“The Shopping Cart Museum,” by Kate LaDew

Aug 20th, 2011 | By

The shopping cart museum was interesting, to say the most. In that it wasn’t that interesting. Percival wasn’t sure why he’d ever started it. Just because his dad had specified the money was to be spent on shopping carts, didn’t mean it had to be spent on shopping carts. Percival knew his dad was crazy. Everyone knew Percival’s dad was crazy. But you were supposed to listen to dad, right? Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do? He’d read that somewhere.

“A Stinking Rose by Any Other Name,” by Lawrence Barker

Aug 20th, 2011 | By

Fiasco, Part the First: “It’s them lousy Sasquatches,” Vinnie grumbled as he emptied the trash into the dumpster behind Gatlinburg’s Bigfoot Inn. “They get the breaks. We don’t get nothing. Nothing, I tell you.” He flicked away a banana peel that had stuck to his long, orangish fur. “Just look at that “People Used to Deny Cryptids’ Existence” exhibit at Ripley’s Believe It or Not Museum. Bigfoot takes up half, and half the rest goes to them attention-whores Nessie and Jersey Devil. They get everything. Why, this stinking town’s got three stinking shops that don’t sell nothing but knitted Sasquatch hair.”