The Best of Mad Swirl : 06.08.24

The Best of Mad Swirl : 06.08.24
I love the passion you go through while you're creating. LeRoy Neiman ••• The Mad Gallery ••• Kaleidoscope of the Mind ~ Andrea Damic To see all Andrea’s hypnotical & mesmerizingly mad symmetric works, as well as our other resident artists (50+ and counting!) take a virtual stroll thru Mad Swirl’s Mad Gallery! ••• The Poetry Forum ••• This last week on Mad[read more]

Note of Gratitude to the Mad Ones : 06.05.24

Note of Gratitude to the Mad Ones : 06.05.24
This past 1st Wednesday of June (aka 06.05.24) Mad Swirl Open Mic whirl’d up the Swirl at our OC home, Barbara’s Pavillion, getting the Mad mic opened for ALL you Mad ones out there! This month we featured local legend, author, director, event coordinator, host, poet, producer and visionary, B. Randall! Grats to ALL the participators &[read more]

Note of Gratitude to the Mad Ones : 06.05.24

Note of Gratitude to the Mad Ones : 06.05.24
This past 1st Wednesday of June (aka 06.05.24) Mad Swirl Open Mic whirl’d up the Swirl at our OC home, Barbara’s Pavillion, getting the Mad mic opened for ALL you Mad ones out there! This month we featured local legend, author, director, event coordinator, host, poet, producer and visionary, B. Randall! Grats to ALL the participators &[read more]

The Best of Mad Swirl : 06.01.24

The Best of Mad Swirl : 06.01.24
Follow your inner moonlight; don't hide the madness. Allen Ginsberg ••• The Mad Gallery ••• Whirlpool of Life ~ Andrea Damic Mad Swirl is excited to welcome Andrea Damic back to the Mad Gallery, who captivates us time and time again with her abstract digital art, weaving symmetrical patterns that draw us into a mesmerizing, dark, and trippy realm. Damic’s[read more]

Notionality

Unkempt lawns
admit guests
to homes without hosts.
Skin untouched by skin
circulates its soreness.
An eager eye notes its noise.

Mind-pop flies me
inside your cote.
Attire impedes the famished.
In hungriness inclinations
are peeled of pretense.
The mind is the finest bed.

Recently Published

FINDING ANOTHER…

I’ve moved from one to another
To another to another for years
Now, decades long, and with one
Threatening departure I knew it
Was coming again soon BUT
Somehow,[read more]

Autumn

Crickets screech in the night
In the ceiling, piercing
Competing with my tinnitus
Lying awake for hours
Hot days, warm nights
Legs out, legs under
Arms tucked in, arms flung out
Pillow’s[read more]

The Muse, The Butcher

I gather my ideas
and place them
tenderly at her feet
like a fresh kill.
Ink and bone.
Future and flesh.
She tears at the skin
hollowing the bones;
a wild[read more]

The Social Aid & Pleasure Club Prepares for Earl Bourbon’s Funeral, August 7th 1977

The Social Aid & Pleasure Club Prepares for Earl Bourbon’s Funeral, August 7th 1977

Grace is standing on the captain’s chair, working her fingernail under a thumb tack, & there’s New Orleans outside the window, stretching its spine like a cat in a puddle of sunshine. “Don’t break your nail, Sweetie,” says Annie. “I gotcha some flower decals to put on ‘em.” Something hilarious is boiling in the kitchen (as always), but hilarious doesn’t mean it’s not delicious. “Let’s trade plums,” says Grace, and I have no idea what that means or even to whom it is addressed. While I am focusing on the pie[read more]
You Shouldn't Be Here

You Shouldn't Be Here

A chain and padlock ensured no one could open the gates of the park. Eva had expected this. She glanced at a wooden board. It read: Closed, dusk to dawn. Eva grasped the vertical bars of one of the gates and hauled herself over the top. The chain rattled as she jumped and landed on an asphalt path. With a three-quarter moon above, she could see cut grass and flower beds on either side. Distant trees, huddled in scattered copses, proved less distinct. She had set herself a challenge: to break into[read more]
The Labyrinth

The Labyrinth

One night, I got stuck in Pueblo, Colorado. It's not a bad place, a steel mill town, semi-arid land sprawl, and as in a lot of towns, the bus station where I landed happened to be an underground hypermart: prostitutes, both sexes, dealers, and of course, all the big shots a road hog like me would ever wanna meet. The station's a fashion show of Bukowski clones after nightfall. I mention big shots because that's where I headed. A saloon across the street called The Big Shot Lounge had a salad[read more]