The Best of Mad Swirl : 09.04.17 - 09.16.17

The Best of Mad Swirl : 09.04.17 - 09.16.17
"Art is a fruit that grows in man, like a fruit on a plant, or a child in its mother's womb." ~ Jean Arp ••• The Mad Gallery ••• “Restless As Dream Lightning” (above) by featured artist Bill Wolak. We’ve said it before and we’ll say it again: We cannot get enough of Bill Wolak! The symmetry, the[read more]

Notes of Gratitude to the Mad Ones : 09.06.17

Notes of Gratitude to the Mad Ones : 09.06.17
This past 1st Wednesday of September (aka 09.06.17) Mad Swirl stirred it up again. This month we opened the mic up to all you mad poets, performers and musicians. Here’s a shout out to all who graced us with your words, your songs, your divine madness… Hosts: MH Clay Opalina Salas Music: Swirve Mad Mic Cast: Paul Koniecki Raquel Genae Carlos Salas Reverie Evolving Sam[read more]

Returning Featured Artist: Bill Wolak

Returning Featured Artist: Bill Wolak
We’ve said it before and we’ll say it again: We cannot get enough of Bill Wolak! The symmetry, the oddity – both pleasing and confusing to the eyes in a way that we dig the most. If you’ve seen Bill’s work before, we HIGHLY suggest checking out this new batch. If you haven’t experienced him[read more]

I’m Through

Things aren’t like
They used to be
These days
Simplicity is a rarity
Complications cloud
Our minds
Distractions of all kinds
Threaten to sway
The things we say
Or dare not
To declare
These pointless
points of view
Dulling all our
Shining hues
Just trying to cope
And hang on to hope

Nope. I’m through.

Things don’t look like
They used to look
These days
It’s rare to find
An open book
We’re mindless drones
Noses bent to phones
Oblivious to the swirling
Mad world that’s unfurling
All around us
Hypnotized by the eye
Of the corporate beast
Who feasts on our meat
And pickpockets our souls

No. I’m through.

Things don’t feel like
They used to feel
These days
The fuzzed up line
Between fiction and real
Has got us twisted
In some unreal reality
All the while technology
Messes up our psychology
Creating prescriptions
For made-up maladies
Manufactured by the pharmaceutical
Companies owned and
controlled by this so-called
Society we call democracy
It’s a fucking travesty.

Not me. I’m through.

It’s due time we
Let loose of the line
Cut the tie
That binds our minds
And blinds our eyes
Make us a society
That’s yours and mine
Say enough is too much
Kick this crippling crutch
And touch reality
Taste it and see it
And really feel it
Be all up in it
Seeking and finding
Colliding the new world
We got duped into buying
With the old world
We thought was dying
And was long lost
and forgotten
It’s not

All we need to do
Is say we’re through.

Recently Published

the stories i was whispering to you while you slept

we are in a back room
at the old library
where they stack piles of books
on the floor

our palms are buried
beneath ash and dust

your eyes peer at[read more]

MAKING PLANS

The phone rang and I picked it up
From the other end came a near hysterical female voice
I thought, fuck who have I pissed off now?
But[read more]

Easy as 1, 2, truth.

You see
You’re Everlasting like the essence of bread and wine.
When you read forever My grandfather’s cheeks were Scarlet with eternity
And I have fervor in infinity
When[read more]

Scales

Scales

Come in! came a voice. Hurley went in and confronted a bald well-built man in a wife beater undershirt with an electric guitar strapped on, playing scales slowly with no amplifier to the tick tock of a tall red metronome. He didn't stop when he saw Hurley. He just nodded What do you need? I need your name. The ticking of the metronome and the tiny sound of the unamplified notes set the pace for the conversation. My name's John. Why? What's your name? Hurley. So what do you want, Hurley? What can I do[read more]
Bloody Rock

Bloody Rock

The sun was blazing green hues, the earth was sprouting blood like dust. The wind was icy and heavy- almost suffocating. Sunburnt twisted limbs dug. They fissured the serum of earth with violence and tickled the tarnished soil with their sickles and spades. Each brutal sweat evaporated into miasma. The wailing chill swallowed the filth, the trauma. Violence sniffled into abjectness. The arid restrictive atmosphere was burning through the hides of those slimy creatures that were wriggling on the scarlet soil. They were like veins that had burst in a body and[read more]
This Is What Love Is About

This Is What Love Is About

“You see, there’s always an increase in stake and a gap and a back up against the wall. Now, look…” He flicked his cigarette. “No matter how much you write, you want more.” Lilly was just listening. Herb was in one of his moods. “It was cool, so clever, the way that thing just arrived in me.” Herb lit another one. They were eating Italian in Newark. He was not going to stop smoking cigarettes with food just because some hotshot New York mayor was on a power trip. “It came to me so[read more]