Three samples from the zine

“A whole civilization will die tonight”

“I don’t want that to happen, but it probably will,”
said the abuser to the victim.

Don’t be fooled, we are all the victims, some more than others.

The man
hides inside his own
ideology,
the clockwork
logicality of
A causes B causes C
all the way down to Z
and his final solution

but he is not strong enough
to follow through
to the last benzene vapors
wafting through his vision of a Chancellery.

Maybe it is the bone spurs?

In his moments of delusional clarity,
he somehow thinks he will
lead us through “one of the most important moments in
the long complex history of the World”
and all will be amazed
(there will be singing and dancing)
at his ability to play hard ball
and all will have to confess
and call him master.

But we know what he has done:
cast the spell of a carnival barker
grifting his marks
all the way to the
end of the world.

I don’t know what will happen tonight
but odds are
he will take what he can, so he can
continue the grifting.

Mashed Potatoes

Sometimes I wonder whether it is possible to experience something so traumatic that it sets a dynamic in motion, so fevered, it would consume a lifetime (and a life) trying to avoid humiliation.

But does having your family all laugh at you because your big brother dumped mashed potatoes on your head to get you to stop being a butt-head to your little brother, really qualify?

The child is the father of the man and it is almost impossible to ignore the laughter echoing from Queens down through the Strait of Hormuz.

Weak. Wounded. Evil.
Now old.
Always accountable.

taco tuesday

“This is nothing like the mashed potatoes…”

he manages to say,
his voice only breaking a little
as he storms past the secret service
up to his bedroom.