| FROM THE EDITOR APRIL 23, 2007 |
| I�ve been working very hard to get this issue online before the end of April. Dealing with the stress of buying my first car, a full time job, and a sick cat (not to mention working the library�s computer usage time into my own schedule) has made it quite a challenge. And to think what it would be like if I was married and had kids! I would be writing this from an insane asylum. Needless to say, I haven't been able to come up with a really good topic for my editorial so I'll just inform you of some of the changes being made.
First one you may notice is the new setup. Starting with this issue, Illogical Muse is going to look more like an actual publication and not just a list of writers. You may have noticed the Contributors� Notes have disappeared. No need to be spell bound, they haven�t pulled a Houdini, they�ve just been moved to their individual pages. This simplifies everything. You can read poems, stories and bios without CLICKING HERE!!!!!!!! I�m also deleting e-mails and will no longer be posting them unless the author specifically asks that I do so. A reminder to contributors: The Illogical Muse promise is that at least one selection from your initial submission will be accepted (if you follow guidelines). However, I will reject anything after that if I don�t like it. SIMULTANEOUS SUBMISSIONS are fine and dandy. MULTIPLE SUBMISSIONS are an annoyance. The difference? Simultaneous submissions are when you send the same submission to several editors. Multiple submissions are when you send several submissions to the same editor. Put everything in one submission and DO NOT submit again until you receive a response. If you do, I�ll place it in the always overfilled FILE 13. (That�s the trash for all you lame brains). This issue shines the spotlight on Michael Keshigian. His poems "Sweet Pleasure" and "Music Appreciation" appeared at Illogical Muse back in October of last year. I especially like the way he takes such a small event, such as snatching a piece of candy or the way the moon shines, and lets his mind turn it into a poetic expression. Here is the link to his page: Michael Keshigian. And I have an announcement to make. Illogical Muse is gearing up for its very first theme issue. The usual guidelines apply but please note that I will be making rejections as I am particualr about the material included in this issue. If you do happen to receive a rejection you can always resubmit for one of the quarterly issues. You have plenty of time to submit as publication won't be until mid-2008. The theme is ANCIENT GREECE so please type that somewhere in the subject line of your submission. One last thing I feel I must mention. Most everyone who owns a cat or dog is aware of the pet food recall. Well, I have some more information to share with you. FANCY FEAST IS CONTAMINATED! I haven�t found it on any of the recall lists but it I�ve learned from personal experience that it should be. Naraku, my youngest cat, was recently neutered so when he became sick I thought it was just a side effect. When he stopped eating he got better. I didn�t think anything of it then. The brand I buy hadn�t been contaminated � so I thought. When he ate again, he got sick again. In just two weeks he lost about 4 pounds. Harvey, my oldest cat, doesn�t eat moist cat food and he�s as healthy as can be. That�s when something clicked in my head and I felt bad that I hadn�t trusted my father�s instincts and ditched the cat food long ago. One of our contributors, Susan Carole, has written an article which appears in this issue. |
| "Filling The Hole"
By Richard Lighthouse with the noisy chaos of work crews and a backhoe, they've dug a hole in the street. so i fill it with remnants of life, one shovel at a time. dream fragments, discarded selves, emptying the mind's closet. neighbors gather to watch. orange pylons & yellow tape marking caution. kids offer a wagon to help with the hole. while psychic dumping, my anxiety naps, falling off the couch. the hole sinks and expectation rises. my mental junkyard becomes a memorial. now everyone wants a hole. Richard Lighthouse is a contemporary writer and poet. He is a corporate executive and has traveled all over the world. He is also an engineer, artist, pilot, teacher, & musician. He holds an M.S. from Stanford University. His work has been published in: West Hills Review: A Walt Whitman Journal, New York; Red Cedar Review, Michigan State University; Mudfish, New York; and many others worldwide. |
| "Constant Companion"
By Sawinder Singh For me I have my constant companion In day and night, I call it God And they too have a constant companion In day and night, they call it hunger. What hunger is never I knew, but they did Because like a cockroach in gutter they live Around the sewage pipes of the city, Along with the smell and the dirt and the crime Every man lives in hunger and dies in hunger Evey woman lives in insult and dies in indignity, killing every dream they glare towards The world where men of great of riches Move with women laden in jewelery. And every day when I turn the golden fixtures in bathroom They crawl as a snail in mines of black stone Driven not with passion but sufferings, keeping in mind Not god but hunger. And Lo! here I see the truth, as it operates That nothing is more cruel to man than man, Nobody betrays God but man, no animal decieves Itself but man, that all-ways the weakest, the poor The destitute is crushed and they say 'fittest shall survive!' And that, he may cry to any extent Pray to any extent, pretends he has faith! He still has to live in this hell and whole life just survive in miseries along with his best friend And constant companion- Hunger! |
| "Vision Of You"
for C.R. By Doug Draime You moved through the weeping willows dancing to a Chopin waltz. The sun was just setting over the Wabash and across it, darkening slowly the Illinois plains. This is a vision you never knew I had of you. You danced into the darkness where I could only see shadows of your slow twirling around the trees and your delicate steps, your form gliding on a sultry night. Sometimes I see that all again. Sometimes I see us chasing each other through the cornfields of Decker Chapel, under the burning sun of July, your hair the color of the ripe corn. Doug Draime's most recent book in print is "Unoccupied Zone" (Pitchfork Press, 2004). He started publishing in the underground and small press in the late 1960's in Los Angeles. His wide range of writing continues to appear worldwide. |
| "Moment Gone And Passed"
By Justin Fitzpatrick What decides a thing to leave? Make you somber through your days And when you wake-up tomorrow You�ll reminisce about yesterday What decides a thing to go? Leave before you had a chance What makes time not look back? Leave you standing in a trance What decides ones movement? And allow them to go on Why do others move forward? And we�re here way too long What lifts a smile into a mind? Caresses the inner soul Why does that feeling never stay? Why does it turn and go? What ever makes a memory? Just a moment gone and past Even when the tears go dry The feeling will always last |
| �Rhythm & Blues�
By J.T. Whitehead The sun was still out in the Western sky. R&B played at a low volume. Underneath the mesas, on the horizon, an auto�s digital-green dash-lit time would brighten with the sinking down of this last day . . . You put your bare toes I know on the dash. You were 23 miles & 200 dollars away from that air-conditioned room in a romantic lodge, I am sure, far away in what was once a dead miner�s ghost town that has now, thanks to pawn shops, grown. There were meditations over your smoke & ash. There were Hopi relics with dead gods etched in. There was the air conditioner humming softer than your slowly spoken affirmation, followed by your exhaustion, & deep sleeping. On any other day there you could quietly, gently, lie. Listening to the shower water in the morning, you pulled, from your purse, a love letter from me. later in the shade on the veranda, over lunch, smiling, you caressed his shoulder, sipping his tea. |
| "Willow Tree"
By Michael Lee Johnson Wind dancers dancing to the willow wind, leaves swaying right to left all day long. Birds hanging on- bleaching feathers out into the sun. Mr. Michael Lee Johnson lives in Chicago, IL. after spending 10 years in Edmonton, Alberta Canada during the Viet Nam era. He is a freelance writer and poet. He is interested in social, religious topics, and the need for universal health care in the United States. He is presently self-employed, with a previous background in social service areas. He has a B.A. degree in sociology, worked on a Masters Program in Correctional Administration. Graduated Niles High School, Niles, Michigan. |
| "Grasping For Illusions"
By Brendan Clark Tinker, tinker toy all night, crafting demons of the candle light. Hearing in songs only the stark. Casting requiems throughout the dark. Barely moving in the still of night. Chasing goblins through the morning light. Sculpting illusions of words never said, for all the phantoms in your head. Twisting another vague illusion, into a masterpiece of parasitic confusion. Looking for the words you should have said, as you build new monsters in your head. Still bound by the light of yesterday, on a night too dark to find your way. The demons die with your forgetting, the vapid curse that keeps emitting, the bygone blights of yesterday, come to feast on focus gone astray. |
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| �An Old Poem�
By J.T. Whitehead So . . . You wanna go somewhere you�re a kid again? At this place I�ve been, there�s an out-dated hot-dog stand, next to a baby-grand . . . No one plays it, well, not anymore. It�s out of tune, don�t you know? & the keys are worn. & fixing it ain�t done, it costs too much. Instead they mingle, & get their music from the sea-shells near the softened side of the opening coast, where the water is wetter, warmer, than a mouth, & spreads wider than my arms or my thighs could ever spread . . . Well . . . being a kid . . . J.T. Whitehead�s poems have appeared in Poetry Motel, Nerve Cowboy, First Class, Bathtub Gin and Freefall just to name a few. He�s worked four years as a labor lawyer (on the worker�s side). He lives with the love of his life plus two cats, has a Masters in Philosophy and plays guitar. |
| "The Color Of Blood"
By Andrew David King uncovering the truth of what I thought of you. every plan in every way, every lie it stops today. no more bloodshed no more tears. lives lost in forgotten years. this will end, it will end now. break these chains. freedom from fear. what happened to our lives over all these years? was it worth it until now, making sense the only way we knew how? everything we were told was true was not. with everything we had, we give all that we can with each dream more lost as they slip through our hands. but when time runs out who takes a stand? the flag that raised you up, you now freely abuse. giving power to the elite, taking more from the used. I know I don�t stand for this. you don�t speak for me, I don�t speak for you. watch them lie, watch them steal like it was nothing. lives destroyed, lives revealed like it was nothing. come take a walk with me. lean over the edge. I�ll show you what it�s like. to feel nothing. and even if the wind blows harder across this sea of black and white, I will still hold on. I won�t let go to all that�s left of what I was. come take a walk with me. destroy the trail that leads to your demise. an everlasting shadow, to blur this blurry future. hasn�t this been enough? but this hurricane will not die. trapped inside a box of glass, soundproof to the cry. haven�t you been enough? these visions torture this tidal wave of reality quickly evaporating, into the sky. just wait a while, and then you�ll see. you�ll catch my disease. an ever-longing, eternally calling high. watch it bring you to your knees. I would turn back time if I could. but yesterday will not come again. today the winds have changed. yesterday will not come again. |
| Andrew David King was born in Fremont, California on June 11, 1992. With a �demanding and insightful voice� poised to issue unprecedented commentaries on both society and our lives as human beings, he has enjoyed writing since middle school and has written poetry, fiction, and non-fiction pieces. When he�s not putting the pen to paper, he enjoys playing guitar and piano, jamming with his band, swimming, doing collage, discussing politics, composing music, and observing the world around him with a critical eye. He has been a winner of the Martin Luther King Jr. Art and Essay Contest for the city of Hayward, California, and his visual art has been on display at the Oakland Museum of California. He is currently a freshman at Moreau Catholic High School, and lives in Hayward with his family. Visit his website Send an e-mail |
| "Music Theroy"
By Sara Crawford You sat in my passenger seat, your legs scrunched up through all of the clutter, and we sang together. We sang along to the unrequited love song. You listened to it like a puzzle. I heard an outstretched arm of a person down on their knees with one last request, skin burned into the carpet. You heard the A minor chord followed by the E minor chord. I don't want to know astronomy. The stars are too beautiful to understand. I spoke to you with emotion, but you heard only logic, and you couldn't trace it with your finger.. A piece out of place. Come. Close your eyes, and listen. Don't try to figure it out. |
| "Flask"
By Sara Crawford Monday was raspberry rum mixed with cranberry juice in a blue plastic dixie cup I held in my hand as I made eyes at an old friend from high school. His bedroom was cluttered and his metal piercing scratched my throat. Tuesday was hard cider one after an other as I made eyes at the bartender from South Africa who liked blues music and undressed me with his eyes before placing another drink in my hand. Wednesday was screwdrivers 90 percent vodka 10 percent orange juice as I watched the porn star and tried to learn from her. She always gets what she wants. Thursday was whiskey that I kept in a metal flask tucked away in my black bag. No one saw me drink it. Not even the stranger whose arms I found myself in the next morning. Friday was margaritas one after an other as I sang karaoke and snuck into the bathroom of the bar to shove substances up my nose to feel alive. Saturday was shots of jagermeiseter before I took the stage to forget how to play my instrument of choice and strip down naked instead. Today is Sunday. I'm drinking black coffee, waiting for you to come out of the bathroom of this freezing all-night diner. I wait... and wait... and wait... for you. But I don't think you're coming out this time. I don't think you're coming back. And my flask is empty. |
| "Her Song Of Hunger"
By Bradley W. Buchanan I have stopped pretending that life makes sense� partly because I don�t deserve the joy that shrieks at me now from her chair, smeared with Cheerios, applesauce, and the other unspeakable messes of breakfast. The scream is high-pitched, intolerable, but necessary: the child who makes it is well-fed and happy, and yet she yells because even a beautiful world needs a shrill, discordant note. It�s the newness that brings each day to light whether we�re ready for it or not� and we aren�t, though we won�t remember why when it�s dark again and our ears are still ringing like holiday bells from her song of hunger. |
| Reach higher for your blenders off your shelves to prepare your pet's food, and lower in your empty pockets as we have been duped by the mega-billion dollar pet food industry.
I have been a feline owner for 19 years and have currently two surviving senior plus males, 15 and 16 years old who have signs of kidney disease. They were on "organic" pet food all their life. The recent find of first rat poison in shafted wheat from China, then wheat gluten in gravy wet foods, and now out of Canada, Royal Canin dry feline. Why is our wheat, etc., being harvested in China and all over? If the processed goods are tainted, the utensils and cookers must be to! They all should be shut down. Money, of course, is the answer why. Hey, if it's cheaper, they will do it. Who cares if your pet's kidneys fail over time or immediately? As American food consumers we have already been duped by our own human food industry. Over-processing, over-salted, feces and urine contaminated food. So, why not sling it to the pets, and no one will know. Well, do not be afraid to get mad, even at your vet who gets kick-backs from Hills and Iams/Eukanuba. The coverage and news of this situation was very vague. Who's brand, dry, wet, where? I never saw one vet, a Menu Foods spokesperson, same for Iams, Hills, etc., for over a week creep out to be visible on a TV screen. They still can't see that this is a trust issue. We trust that those organic foods that we drove farther to get and pay more for would bring longevity to our pets. I went to Pet World, similar to Petco and Pet Smart. Get this, I saw re-called Iams feline and others on SALE! Not all feline food in the aisles were re-called. At checkout I raised my voice about this (for pet's sake!) and got a big doe-eyed look back with no explanation. They were glad to see me leave. I went to Petco and encountered a more responsible attitude. They were playing a recording of their CEO explaining the recall. Signs were posted on empty shelves. I went to Pet Smart. They had some very off-brand feline moist that I never would chance. I was looking for Royal Canin feline dry geriatric for Senior cats. That night Royal Canin dry feline was recalled. I've thrown out all the Iams. Taken back all my Friskies Senior wet in gravy, and returned the Iams/Eukanuba renal dry diet to my vet. I do sub.q. fluids by needle every other day to my 16 year old which has been termed: life giving fluids. Peta has been after Iams for years. Science Diet was implicated in the 80's for using fertilizer in their dry food stating it was a preservative. Safely figure ALL IS CONTAMINATED. Avoid wet gravy based canned food, Iams, Maxx Cat, anything on the label with wheat gluten. Pet Gold is a safe wet and dry food available at Petco, and on-line. Their Katzenflocken dry feline is pure organic and packed in a foil bag. As for that once lonely blender, cooked carrots, rice, and fish are a safe bet for felines. But don't further count on the pet food industry. They won, and we have been "Fee-Feed and Fi-Doughed.� |
| "FEE-FEED AND FI-DOUGHED" By Susan Carole |
| I have been a cat owner myself for many years. I�ve seen cats die from natural causes and kittens poisoned by cruel hearted neighbors but this is a new kind of fear. I agree with Susan and thank her for sending me her article.
What the hell is wrong with people in this world?! What? Just because somebody�s having a fucked up life they got to take it out on everyone else? And if it really was a mistake (and I�m not holding my breath on that) just admit you were wrong and fix the problem. People who are pet owners, I hope, understand where we are coming from. Those who aren�t may just scoff and say, �What�s the big deal? They�re just animals.� No, they�re more than that. They�re living, breathing creations of God and nobody, I repeat, NOBODY has the right to do something like this. More than just animals, our pets are our friends. They provide love and companionship. They aren�t like some people who think you�re worthless based on your style of dress, your weight, your sexual orientation or your skin tone. (After all, most animals are color blind). You love and respect them, they will love and respect you. It seems to me we humans could learn something from our pets. Check the cat food you buy for wheat gluten but keep in mind that even though it may not contain any that doesn�t necessarily mean it�s safe. Remember this whole thing started with cyanide poisoning. If your cat exhibits any strange behavior stop feeding that particular brand. Substitute a can of tuna fish or some hamburger, if the cat will even eat at all. Some symptoms to look for include vomiting, abdominal pain (cries out when you touch the stomach) loss of appetite and yellowing of the skin, tongue and whites of the eyes. These are some of the symptoms Naraku showed. Discontinue use of the cat food and your cat may just get better on its own if its immune system is strong enough. But if it doesn�t, obviously, contact your vet. If you have any more information about the contaminated pet food, feel free to e-mail me and I will pass the word along. Any new updates I receive between now and the next issue of Illogical Muse will be posted on the Blog. |
| FINAL THOUGHTS BY AMBER ROTHROCK |
| When Naraku was really sick, and my family and I thought he would die, I wrote this and sung it to him. I was inspired by a scene from the movie Babe. It follows the old song, �If I Had Words� by Scott Fitzgerald & Yvonne Keeley.
�Moonshine� By Amber L. Rothrock If I had words to make a day for you I�d sing you a morning golden and new I would make this day last for all time And give you a night deep in moonshine If I had words to make a dream for you I�d weave you a new life, shiny and true I would make this love last for all time And we�d spend our nights bathed in moonshine But the world must change and like it or not There�s nothing we can do to make it stop But I hope you find your place in time And remember these nights in moonshine |
| Naraku, Age 2 |
| Graphics for this issue provided by: HellasMultiMedia Snick's Gif Gallery Anne's Place |
| WELCOME TO ILLOGICAL MUSE SPRING 2007 |