viperslang
viperslang:

« CyberHex Journals »
 ’This diary is my kief, hashish and opium pipe. This is my drug and my vice.’
                                                                                                    — Anais Nin
We sit on the cusp of the digital and the tribal. We are half camphor, half rose quartz coruscating in a runic waltz. We are an arts and literature journal dedicated to coloring outside the lines : lines of genre, lines of narrative, lines of language, lines of persona. We are fault lit - asymptotic and volcanic. We welcome breaks in the assemblage. We whisper in the fissures, murmur in the crevices. We want old forms in new storms, visceral and ethereal, incantatory and hermetic. 
 

Pocket  sarcophagi hidden in the cracks of the sidewalk,
the mourning whisper waiting beneath your fingernails.
Sterile incantations stuttered by the white-robed acolyte,
his eyes groping beneath the bleeding quarter moon.
- M. J. Arnett 

Issue 1 : Digital Darkcore  
Guidelines :
Poetry : 1 to 4 poems in the body of the email 
Prose : upto 6500 words or 2 prose pieces in the body of the email/ alternatively you can send flash fiction and short short fiction 
Art/Photography : 1-7 prints of your own original work
Mixed Media : send us a proposal/query of what you intend to make and if Jim is surrounded by enough happy dogs he will agree to it!
Submissions: cyberhexjournals@gmail.com
Last Date for Submissions : 30th April 2014
Make us read something that stretches out our spine like a yogi on a bed of nails.
Go on.

viperslang:

« CyberHex Journals »

 ’This diary is my kief, hashish and opium pipe. This is my drug and my vice.’

                                                                                                    — Anais Nin

We sit on the cusp of the digital and the tribal. We are half camphor, half rose quartz coruscating in a runic waltz. We are an arts and literature journal dedicated to coloring outside the lines : lines of genre, lines of narrative, lines of language, lines of persona. We are fault lit - asymptotic and volcanic. We welcome breaks in the assemblage. We whisper in the fissures, murmur in the crevices. We want old forms in new storms, visceral and ethereal, incantatory and hermetic. 

 

Pocket  sarcophagi hidden in the cracks of the sidewalk,

the mourning whisper waiting beneath your fingernails.

Sterile incantations stuttered by the white-robed acolyte,

his eyes groping beneath the bleeding quarter moon.

- M. J. Arnett 

Issue 1 : Digital Darkcore  

Guidelines :

Poetry : 1 to 4 poems in the body of the email 

Prose : upto 6500 words or 2 prose pieces in the body of the email/ alternatively you can send flash fiction and short short fiction 

Art/Photography : 1-7 prints of your own original work

Mixed Media : send us a proposal/query of what you intend to make and if Jim is surrounded by enough happy dogs he will agree to it!

Submissions: cyberhexjournals@gmail.com

Last Date for Submissions : 30th April 2014

Make us read something that stretches out our spine like a yogi on a bed of nails.

Go on.

Writing is inhibiting. Sighing, I sit, scribbling in ink this pidgin script. I sing with nihilistic witticism, disciplining signs with trifling gimmicks - impish hijinks which highlight stick sigils. Isn’t it glib? Isn’t it chic? I fit childish insights within rigid limits, writing shtick which might instill priggish misgivings in critics blind with hindsight.
Christian Bök  |  Eunoia (Chapter I ) 

this is a collection of masks
a rampaging tricycle
thirteen million silk worms eating a single powdered wig
the unconvincing feint turned into a dance and we all rubbed it into our gums
If you lick the front of your teeth while passing a graveyard your eyebrows turn green
and stay that way until you next see your reflection
I don’t know anything else, its been painted over 3 times and played at thirteen frames per second
comes off in flecks like dander
the whole ensemble a tiny room
ripening as you enter