Mad Swirl Open Mic : 07.05.17

Mad Swirl Open Mic : 07.05.17
Join Mad Swirl & Swirve this 1st Wednesday of July (aka 07.05.17) at 8:00 SHARP as we continue to swirl up our mic madness at our mad mic-ness home, Dallas’ City Tavern! Come on out, one & all. Get a brainful of Swirve, share in the Mad Swirl’n festivities, & if the spirit is movin’ ya[read more]

The Best of Mad Swirl : 06.24.17

The Best of Mad Swirl : 06.24.17
"It's almost required with artists that there's some duality. And I've got duality everywhere." ~ George Michael ••• The Mad Gallery ••• “Queer Power” (above) by featured artist David J. Thompson. To see more of David’s mad snaps, as well as our other featured artists, visit our Mad Gallery! ••• The Poetry Forum ••• This last week in Mad[read more]

The Best of Mad Swirl : 06.17.17

The Best of Mad Swirl : 06.17.17
"Eventually everything connects - people, ideas, objects. The quality of the connections is the key to quality..." ~ Charles Eames ••• The Mad Gallery ••• “Street Art, Belfast” (above) by featured artist David J. Thompson. Mad Swirl is proud to welcome back ‘round these swirlin’ parts artist David J. Thompson, with a new batch of mad visuals! David[read more]

Wet Radio 2015

Rain has no gender.
Why are tears then often assigned gender roles? We, who defy, cry immersing
ourselves in rivers, for life is but a long hallucination of memory and miseries we cull. Love
and loss are often one and the same- they eat our brain cells like ants swarming over
stale, decayed bread by the side of your garbage bin, early morning.
I have lost count of my lovers in imaginary strawberry fields, now purple in evenings without
crowing crows. Often, I have tried to lose my memory. Sometimes by falling
in love to seek pain- sometimes by disappearing a little every winter.
And escape came running down the green paddy fields, through a broken shortwave
radio whining in pain
Or, in guitar solos that illuminated my lamp lit, power-cut evenings. Other times, in lyrics
we gathered from the album covers.
Skipping lunch, biking for hours under the hot, arid sun, saving
to buy, to listen to the songs that remind you of your favourite lover, the punishments you
received at the school, and so on. May be, crying was just an excuse.
I was probably just longing for some goosebumps.

Recently Published

To the dregs

life is poison,
yet I must drink it.
there is no other beverage
that gets me so drunk.[read more]

Contradiction Of The Doctrine

Free thinking
don’t cost a thing
come to think of it
it’s on the house

The negation
of asceticism
and display
of my appearance
may be of dubious
nature to you

But that doesn’t[read more]

That Is Not My Future

School was a difficult maze and prison
to manoeuvre and struggle through.
It was curious to see others
working towards future plans,
set goals and structured inclinations.
Even the girls[read more]

A Night without Stars

A Night without Stars

“My planet sweet on a silver salver,” she said. “What?” he asked. “Dana, that makes no sense, none.” “What doesn't?” Dana asked. “It's a song lyric, Echo and the Bunnymen.” “Oh,” he said. “I don't know them.” “It doesn't matter,” she said. “No,” he said. “I suppose not.” “Besides, I came out here to have a break, I didn't want company,” she said. “Oh, I'm sorry.” “That, and you don't even smoke,” she said. “So there's no reason for you to be out here.” “Dana,” he said, “I just wanted to get some fresh air.” “Huh?” she grunted. “Yeah.” She[read more]
Under a Wilder Sun

Under a Wilder Sun

Above the decorative bells, mounted within the steeple of the Lutheran church, a pair of loud speakers blare a recording of bells. The ringing falls from its rafters like shattered glass on pavement. Parishioners mill around, wearing polite smiles that match their Sunday best. Mouths move, heads nod, but no one can hear the other. As long as nothing is truly said or heard, everyone is in agreement, everyone is happy. The less you know, the better had been Leonard's family maxim growing up. No one in his family spoke about[read more]
Aftermath

Aftermath

Denzel couldn’t conceive of anything but jail time in his future. Even if his trial was completed before he turned eighteen, he might be sentenced as an adult despite the fact he hadn’t cause Zoe’s death. They had been skimming rocks across Kinzua Lake. Denzel had proposed a fishing date, figuring they’d find a spot along the twenty plus mile manmade waterway. It was not yet time for pike, but walleye was in late season and the bass run had just begun. They’d rent a walkaround from Wolf Run Marina. Denzel[read more]