Art visual np2

About the artist Alex C. born October 1975 – deceased May or June 1994 (he can't remember the exact date) and again on 24 March 2005 is some sort of awkward container for restless things that don’t fit anywhere. His drawings are not entirely real but not entirely virtual either and are all about nothing more than something else as long as there’s not anything real in the else – if surrealism is based on some sort of reality non-realism is completely opposed to any reality, other than the fact that the only reality is illusion. Stary Night Angry Nude New Land © Alex C.  

About the author Janet Richards is a poet & journalist living in the Bay of Quinte area of Ontario, Canada. She shares her home with her husband, three daughters, & a changeable number of pets. Janet’s poetry has been published in the anthologies “Brother, My Cup” & “Eyes of the Poet”. She is also a member of the Canada Cuba Literary Alliance. Her first poetry collection “Glass Skin” ( Hidden Brook Press, 2008 ) will be launched May 11, 2008. Camera Shake [The Shooter’s Blues] shutter shudder click one aboriginal activist released from jail two house fires: no injuries three mayors click shutter shudder four architectural features five head shots six Scottish dancers shudder shutter click seven wall of fame inductees eight amusements at the exhibition nine child smiles ten accidents passed plainclothes without camera there is always the pretense it never really happened Becoming acquainted with Laura Laura tells me she used to wear clothes four sizes too big. She wanted t...

About the Authors When Sylvia and Bill aren't writing, they spend their time conspiring to overthrow the various unscrupulous four-legged furry pet dictators in their lives. Oh, and Sylvia likes to do a little math, teach sometimes, roller blade and bike, too. Sylvia usually publishes under the name Birchwood online, while Bill publishes under the then Burnt_at_both_ends. Godel's Ghost We, the aged fragments of hope, fear, love and loss, on this last tree wait, watching vultures devour their last meal. The desert before us stretches from dreams to desire. Your eyes burn, pierce the horizon, wager its curve. None: there’s no return. Some: we meet ourselves again. … as withered plants wager only on rain. … You wait for Godel’s ghost to recant, I wait for you. © Sylvia Silberger and Bill Larsen 2007 Note: Godel was a logician from the early 20th century. He proved Godel's incompleteness theorem which says that no finite set of axioms is sufficient. That is, given any fin...

About the Author Edward Peterson is an artist/poet. He lives in Lockport, IL and grows vegetables to feed his children and alien wife. His work has most recently appeared in After Hours and Reverly. Waking Jack Said Sophie to Jack, "Do you feel distant from your family?" & the answer shot "of course," and when the gun refrained Jack's mouth collapsed on gums, the way a week's decay makes the Jack-O-Lantern appear more human and frightening >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Fold up the faces Don the ritual smocks Pinch closed all the beaks Flock silent as raindrops Then, if you please, the speeches and finger foods freckled cubes of cheese. "Jack was so plump & round & I loved him from every angle. He was my march of time my most effective line. He was my helplessness, my fear. Queer how the snarl on his lip endeared right until the end & I have never grown a pie &...

about the author Niko is also known as "The Bear". (I saw the) Elephant Spiteful Natasha told Dmitri I never saw an elephant when I went to Leningrad. So while she dreamed her girlish dreams Fast asleep in bed that night I cut her hair off at the scalp stroked my cheek in satisfaction with the silky flaxen braids smelled a memory in the darkness of meadowsweet and chamomile. I bit hard on Tanya’s hanky as she rubbed salt into my back. Brokenworld They speak of shameful things in the brokenworld where arms and legs and heads fall away into limepits I will keep your dreams bound with mine in an envelope inside a chocolate box with views of Venice on the lid Tread with care over the rubble of aspirations gather small things to protect you a child’s lost shoe the ribbon of my nightshift the bone clip carved to hold my hair from tumbling down showing my wantonness These relics And our shattered deathmask effigies Chiseled with sorrowful expression Will be the things By which O...

Ca ne fait rien (with apologies to Ogden Nash) "Even though the people stare, I am the man who wasn't there, I am not there again today, I wish to God I'd go away." Defining Things Ordinary people like Tina and Mike have always existed. Folks, who care for their children, care for their parents; family is first. They observe traditional role models, they are honest, decent -- they work hard. They look forward to their holidays, enjoy them, enjoy each other’s company and still kiss each other when they have been apart for half an hour. They dance holding each other close or jive together whenever and wherever they feel like it, even when only they can hear the music. They do not ask for anything from anyone, give to others as much as the boundaries of their lives permit them to give. They live and let live. In times gone by Tina and Mike would have produced child after child, some living , some dying in infancy, they would have been part of a close knit community whe...