Mad Swirl

"Art is the skin of the soul." Alex Grey ••• The Mad Gallery ••• what do you see? - Madelyn Olson To see more of Maddi's mad new cast of diverse characters & canvases, as well as our other former featured artists (51 in total) at Mad Swirl’s Mad Gallery! ••• The Poetry Forum ••• This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we[read more]

Join Mad Swirl Open Mic THIS 1st Wednesday of the December (aka 12.02.20), as we once again whirl up the Swirl VIRTUALLY, opening the mic for all you Mad ones out there! Maximizing the powers of technology & broadcasting from Big D & blastin' off into the interwebs! Starting at 7:30pm (CST), join hosts Johnny O[read more]

"Be faithful to that which exists within yourself" André Gide ••• The Mad Gallery ••• laugh louder - Madelyn Olson To see more of Maddi's mad new cast of diverse characters & canvases, as well as our other former featured artists (51 in total) at Mad Swirl’s Mad Gallery! ••• The Poetry Forum ••• This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we red[read more]

In a theatrical afterlife, the shades take over the performance halls, while post-pandemic audiences move into the limbo of the virtual.  When the theater is dark, critics and reviewers have nothing to report. A Drama Reviewer's pages remain blank; there is nothing to review when nothing is viewed. Reviewer is unemployed, like the actors, directors, designers and stage hands. He sits idle in an abandoned hall, watching shadows flit across an empty stage. Life is attenuated in pandemic times. People pull apart, solitary. With social life suspended dream-life comes closer. Ghosts[read more]

I lift my eyes from my work as a light moves across the living room—the sun glinting off her windshield as she approaches the house. My thoughts are drowned out by the muted crackle of tires slowing their roll against the road. Apprehension turns to dread, turns to defeat, as the garage door opens and the whole house hums. Her car creaks as it wobbles across the dip at the end of the driveway, beginning its ascent with all the grace of a seal climbing a beach. The hammer bounces in[read more]

He awoke as General George Armstrong Custer. What's more, he was in the thick of the fight. The Indian took stock. “It's ironic,” he told himself, “but I'm General Custer.” Just then an arrow flew past his chin. The Indian as Custer looked around. He and his men were trapped! On the crest of a tree-less rounded hill! With hostile Indians attacking all around! Then it hit him: Jehoshaphat! It's Little Big Horn! The Indian smoothed his whiskers. He was a redhead now, a general. In seconds he realized they were[read more]