Wednesday, August 31, 2011


Biergarten by Kurt

This is what it comes down to, Morgan thinks. Days spent haunting the Viktualienmarkt, evenings spent carousing the beer halls. After all the striving for something, the years spent building a family and a future, it’s come down to this—you and the other regulars with nothing better to do. Standing around the public fountains nursing bottles of Hefeweizen to drain away the afternoon. While all around you the good Burgers of Munich eat their lunches and shop for their well deserved Abendbrott. Respectable folks with careers, and families. Retired Omas and Opas who take their daily constitutionals then stop here for a nibble of pickled herring with dill or a glass of chilled Reisling. To socialize and participate in the pageant of respectable daily life.

But not you, Morgan thinks. This is where you have come to forget. This is where you have come to escape. To start anew by recreating what you believe was a better past.

“Are you sure about this,” Hansi says.

“Of course, ol’ pal,” Morgan replies. “Give it to your granddaughter, Liesel.” 

“Odd little, fellow. Isn’t he?”

“Odd little fellow. Indeed.”


Henri Fruber Had an Idea by Alan

Henri Fruber had an idea. It was an idea that would eclipse all his other ideas for sure. The chicken costume? Forget it. This blew that away. The insect repellant-out-the-ass-for-stray-hikers trick? This was better. Even the psychedelic Volkswagon trip series? Yes. Even the Volkswagon. On the timeline that tracked Henri’s comedic aerobatics, this little number was the wide vertical bar. Numero eins. The big salad. He hired a camera man, told him to look for the best-dressed man there, and made his way to the spot. There would be a little gloating, of course. Wouldn’t you? Perhaps a minute or two to adjust to what would surely bring him endless fame and glory. Yes, he would take a minute. Show the camera the idea. Let the lens adjust a bit. Get the lighting just right.


Even a Monkey by Johanna

Welcome to Neurometrics Lab, the number one producer of Brain Enhancement Implants (BEI). We are pleased to have you here with us today to consider the prospects of receiving your very own BEI. We realize that many consumers have strong reservations about purchasing an implant. We want you to know that here at Neurometrics, we understand. But let us assure you, BEI's are so simple, even a monkey could use one. In fact, they have. All of our implants have been tested thoroughly on monkeys before human trials and we have seen next to no side-effects.(1)

Once your BEI is in place at the base of your brain stem, after a simple out-patient procedure, our staff of professionals will help you to adjust to the changes in your mental state that you will immediately begin to notice.(2)  But before long, you too will know the bliss and superior intelligence that all of our BEI customers experience.(3)  With the additional benefits of hands free messaging and enhanced visual data input(4), you will be able to experience an exciting new world with more time to do what you love.

Imagine sending a message to your friends using nothing more than your thoughts while bathing on a beach in Cozumel(5) or having all your questions answered by doing quick data searches in your very own brain. Not only that but with synapses clicking into place at a consistent rate, you will know the euphoric pleasures of life(6) that used to take mystical ascetics years to cultivate.

Thank you again for visiting with us today and after touring our facilities, please let us know if you have any additional questions. Remember, at Neurometrics, we make everything possible.

(1)  In rare cases, some monkeys have displayed signs of psychosis and suicidal tendencies.
(2)  This service is an additional cost.
(3)  At an 86% success rate.
(4)  All content is corporate sponsored and you must agree to accept up to twenty-four commercial advertisements per diem.
(5)  International usage may incur extra costs.
(6)  Euphoria is subjective.


Monsters by Lyle

His expression. Not the kewpie doll’s, the man’s. His expression. Is he waiting to finish his beer? Perched on a fountain. Get it over with. Take the picture. Did he win it? Doing what? Drinking half of his beer perched, at this exact moment, now, on the fountain edge (what must be a fountain). Two bottle caps clamped together like the jaws of some strange beast — the very beast whose likeness he holds in his hand. A creature of fable. But that type of monster that appears in symbols, objects, the sinewy crevice and line of interpretation (clouds, cement, condensation, cake — that kind of fable). So then his expression. Take the picture for proof and then let’s forget about it. Leave it at that. His expression says, let’s finish our beers and have another. Another.

Bread as early. Try and inform. 

It is spring. The beer is light and wheaty. It drinks quickly. The kewpie doll is a gift or it’s found. Either way there is a photo taken. This is the important part now, at this very moment. The photo, which is why the expression is so important. Before — Expression — After. This is the way of things. Creases of memory. Vermin. Worms of remembering. In line behind the kewpie doll and the man with the expression (there is a glint in his eye) is another man with a large white valise. He’s looking for information about an artist in Dusseldorf. He will not find it here. Only monsters.


Kewpie by Forrest

How do you say kewpie to me, you who have never seen me with kewpie? And without kewpie you would never be because he is me. Though no smiles. I smile when I need company. When I need favors—from women, yes. But then I stop smiling. He the kewpie will not, you see. The kewpie is what I cannot do after you and a wife who you have not met. You see kewpie, yes? I see him. Kewpie does not see me now that you have never met my wife. I think it better if all of you do not meet without kewpie. Kewpie does need me if you have seen her before. He needs such favors.


Token by Bill

I bought this with little plastic tokens I won killing time in a beach-front arcade in Atlantic City in ‘73, playing Golden Jake fake slots, which I hit the jackpot on. The guy behind the counter looked at me with an odd grin, checked to see nobody else was around - kids or their parents - but it was a Tuesday morning early in the fall and there weren’t a lot of people around specifically for that reason so he pulls out this box from underneath the counter with the stuff they don’t let kids choose from. They had a couple of actual switchblades in there, instead of those fake comb things they started selling after the government banned the sale of switchblades in ‘58. But I already had knife. A couple of porno mags, playing cards with nude women, a small bong. I considered a pair of brass knuckles for a minute, but it didn’t seem like the time to pick up anything else. This little guy wasn’t even in the box, but I liked the look of him. His little black and white outfit. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Carlo Fratucci walk by on the other side of the street then, so I picked the little guy which disappointed the guy behind the counter and the deck of nude playing cards which made him happy again like he had gone through the trouble of talking out the box then I followed Carlo half a mile down the boardwalk and stuck him under the armpit straight through to the heart. I gave the cards away to my little brother, but I kept this little guy.