Showing posts from August 24, 2014

Tantalize Your Senses…Spoken Word, Poetry and Art

Words have a fluency and lilting quality that illuminates the consciousness when properly aligned and crafted.   Art takes us from the realm of the ordinary to the frontiers of imagination and wonderment.   Persecution Avenue and Chrystal Berche understand how to elicit magic that sparks the human spirit and impels us to think through what we feel after reading and/or experiencing art. Persecution Avenue bobs and weaves his words similar to a cagey, seasoned prize-fighter who knows when to jab and when to float, when to throw the hook and when to rest on the ropes…here is a brief, teaser excerpt from his piece, “ This Little City ” This little city, my little city with the siren soundtrack: where the B-more Black- birds smoke and mirrors lend the opium outcasts a purple hue; the opaque outrage at the state of the avenue. A city again lost when they lose and so we choose to get tossed   in the latent lavender suited lies of our pink politicians. Forgetting their triple bra

Ready for another aaduna tease? You know you are!

Here are a few unedited [mostly] excerpts from Gillick , Murray , and Backer …three intriguing writers coming to the aaduna readership in the summer 2014 issue:   from Matt Gillick’s “Swim Practice” Dad was supposed to pick me up on time but he didn’t.   He was late again. He’s always on time right at five.   Mom said he sometimes took a long time putting on his green clothes and be late for his flight when he left.   I kind of wished he lost them so he could stay longer and tell me jokes.   They’re funny jokes like: “J.P., what happens to a…”   I forget the rest but I always laugh at the end.   The way he tells jokes is funny but I’m not laughing at him.   He just tells them well like I knew I would understand if I were smarter.   Mom told me not to laugh at kids at swim practice, so I laugh at them in the locker room.   One of them cried and I felt bad and I stopped for a bit.   She didn’t come back so I couldn’t say sorry.   Where was Dad?   He didn’t have another flight

There's Chapman, Flenaugh, and know you wanna take a peek...go 'head.

Fiction writers have a way of transporting readers to different realms of consciousness and unimagined explorations of emotional highs and lows and hidden secrets.  Millie Chapman , TD Flenaugh and William Bretton Hodge are offering creative delights to nourish our spirit and motivate us to want more.  These writers along with their fiction colleagues in the aaduna summer 2014 issue will inspire.  Here are brief excerpts from each of these writers’ work: From Millie Chapmans’ “Peony” It stood twisted and arch-backed like the mangled fur of a stray cat.   It’s shadow, elongated by the low-lit window behind it, sliced mercilessly through the smooth surface of the unsuspecting white sheets. As the sun began its daily death, the shadow gained strength, spilling over the side of the bed and skipping down the ruffled bed skirt. It slithered across the hardwood floor toward the door and a young girl who stood with her back pressed firmly against it.      Frozen in fear, Peony