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volume 4, issue iv, 8.27.2009

My part in the collapse of civilization
michael spring

"It landed on my desk with a zoink, a purposeful little email, explaining why, (because the numbers were tight) my homely little cubicle was about to be re-assigned. From today, it said, I would have to participate in the software revolution elsewhere. My severance package would be discussed with me at the appropriate time. "

In the Saloon of Last Reflections 
michael larrain

"The stars have gone out of their heads from drinking sea-water
The sea devours all our toys
particularly the stick-horses
The sun hurls us brutally against
the windows in one another"

hugh fox

"Our old buggywheel, horse-plow,
pass the corn-cabbage-potato-beef
and let's talk about good and bad
knees, winter blankets, resurrection
more or less kids, the next war "

abject nowarya
dean strom


nibbling me 


around the edges
cloven;saucer of broth a

a bad year
robert pliny

"(making haste)

Melanie leaning on the toaster I make haste
to taste while she spreads Have you seen
my glasses I say afterwards They were
right here I like to solve the crosswords I say "

Introduction to Volume 4, Issue iv

Long Live King Ludd. The Fail Issue.

Frankly, you pissants failed us. I'm going to blame it on summer for those of you in the northern hemisphere and on winter for those in the south (we seldom hear from the tropics). If it wasn't for the poets then this issue would go out nearly blank. When we decided we were going to pay our writers (and now I just sit alone at home I cry) we were expecting the multiplier effect in which money creates its own success (it does, you know. it's proven by jackasses everywhere.) And just look at this theme we gave you. Look at it! (a beautiful sentence is "Look at it". Three little words of Gold. Not that any of our contributors will get this succinct writing lesson - well, the poets maybe) In the office pool I selected Long Live King Ludd as the theme most likely to succeed. It's a beautiful theme. It drips the kind of irony we expect our writers to pick up on. The kind of irony that only Barrie Walsh seems to understand. Barrie Walsh was the author of one of the pieces we selected for the fictitious non-fiction theme  and since what he did worked the first time he sends us another version of it full of such complete nonsense that there is no way we would fall for it twice. So, in some sort of bizzare demonstration we're going to link to it here so that you can see how stupid(ly pretendbrilliant) it is without having to give him full issue credit so we don't have to pay him. Believe me, we're not about to pay for this nonsense. We expect our nonsense to have at least one strand connected to a mystery. A mystery requires a home base from which to be denied. 

We refuse to accept any blame here. I assure you the superballs bounce off our walls at every trajectory. Why don't we just write these issues ourselves? No. Don't look behind that curtain. All we want to do is have some fun before we die. And pay you for your contributions. The next theme is the Ghost Issue. It runs in October. October... Halloween... Beer fests...Other things. Anyone want to get paid? This should be the easiest theme yet. Idiots. What do you say you come through this time? We'll give you 50 bucks American. We realize it's not a lot but in the realm of internet literature it's fucking James Joyce. (What? He died broke?)

Having said all this, we might accept some of the submissions that we've already received for the next non-themed issue coming in September. And don’t ask. You don't get paid.  
The one author who did come through is deserving of some comment. The fact that he's receiving little (other than recompense) is due to the fact I'm using up all my column space expressing my dismay at the rest of you. Michael Spring is the man's name. His story My part in the collapse of civilization lands with a zoink. And that's good enough for me. 

Michael Larrain is a poet...  Wait.

This issue has been interrupted by the news of Edward Kennedy's death. The last of the Kennedy brothers has died. Write This is an international publication. While I, Bloog, might be, and the other editors, so-called Americans we're carefully non provincial unless it serves our purposes. The Kennedys should serve some international period-purpose in the sense that the mythology of The Kennedys has crossed borders. To those with some translatable historical perspective we are announcing that The Dead Kennedys (not the band) is a new THEME. Write to it. Make us proud. Coming as soon as you give us the shit. Yes and we will pay you. Actual legal tender. Are you paying attention? (God speed Ted Kennedy.)

Michael Larrain is a poet. Read his poem. It's called In the Saloon of Last Reflections. And just to spite the rest of you we're going to pay this poet some money even if he doesn't want it. If he tries not to take it we'll search him out and punch him right in the mouth. This is not hyperbole. We give no succor to fucking poets. We never have and we never will. They will still send us their submissions and we will still accept them. 

Staying on the poet theme let’s talk about good and bad

       knees, winter blankets, resurrection,

       more or less kids

       with Hugh Fox. Shall we?  

I don't know if this next guy is a poet but his new book with pretendGenius Press will be out as soon as he approves the proof. Proof approving is in the range of this guy's improvable talents. He is Dean Strom. The book is mean confession and the alleged poem appearing in it (and here) is called abject nowarya

Robert Pliny writes in many languages. He has written for us here in the one you're currently reading unless what you're reading has been translated by our grandchildren into Gooflingsh. 

It appears it was the poets who have been the heroes to ride into the nuclear winter with potable water and a pint of vinegar. Who knew it would be them? Why, they did, of course. 

Bloog Mandrake

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previous issue: the city has a face
upcoming themes:  submit here

ghost stories - issue 4.6
Opening Date: August 22nd
Closing Date: October 1st
Publication Date: October 21st

Summation:  Filmmaker Jan Svankmajer stated, "Unless we again begin to tell fairy tales and ghost stories before going to sleep and recounting our dreams upon waking, nothing more is to be expected of our Western civilization."

Your mission is simple: the 21st century needs new ghost stories (we'll get to the fairy tales and dreams later).  Abandon those stuffy Victorian mansions and tired blanket cliches.  Our century needs new tales of haunting.  Scare us.  Make us scream in ways we've never screamed before.

the blasphemy issue - issue 4.8
Opening Date: October 22nd
Closing Date: December 1st
Publication Date: December 21st

Summation: You love God. You hate God. We won't judge. Come to us to with your devotions, your confessions, or your proclamations. Or come to us with your disdain, your warnings. Bring us your Goddesses and Nymphs. Jesuses. Or your Darwins. Your Hubbardwacks. Your when you're dead you're dead. We don't care. And join together, one and all, in what shall be a heartwarming dialogue of "Fuck God." "Fuck God? No. God is Great. Fuck you." We will choose fairly from the pro god and anti god camps. No agnostics please.

fuck this apocalypse - issue 4.10
Opening Date: December 22nd
Closing Date: February 1st
Publication Date: February 21st

Summation: Every generation thinks that they are living at the cusp of the apocalypse, and we are no different.  But that apocalypse is so much more than the mundane end of the world.  The word comes from a Greek word meaning the "unveiling" or "revelation."  What could be sexier than an unveiling?  What is fucking but a divine revelation?   As Wikipedia (an always reliable source) states, the apocalypse might more accurately be thought of as, "the disclosure to certain privileged persons of something hidden from the majority of humankind."  It is, thus, a revelation of the secret history or unspoken truth of the world, of existence, of the cosmos, or simply of humanity, or even more simply, of the naked human body.

We want to tell the story of the real apocalypse, the erotic apocalypse, and we want your help.  Send us your stories of revelation, and hey, we wouldn't mind it if they happened to be apocalyptic in the more common, modern sense of the word as well.  And remember, in honor of St. Valentine's Day, make it fucking hot!

disclaimer:  write this content does not necessarily reflect the views of all write this contributors. happy flails.

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compare the functions f(x) and T(x) near the indicated point x0 in each of the examples below:

f(x) = x2, x0 = 1

f(x) = x3, x0 = 1

f(x) = x3, x0 = -1

f(x) = x3, x0 = 1/2