I never paint dreams or nightmares. I paint my own reality.

Frida Kahlo

••• The Mad Gallery •••

“The United States of Anarchy” by featured artist Kasey Jones

This month’s featured artist, Kasey Jones, brings a bold and striking collection of black and white drawings that echo the look and feel of classic linocut prints. Jones’ line work is detailed and deliberate, giving each piece a sense of movement and depth — a whole lot to take in. the subjects featured in each piece are just as compelling, often carrying a surreal or mysterious (and subtly anarchist) edge; there is something quietly defiant in the way each image unfolds. Each powerful and precise illustration says something, and sticks with you long after you’ve stopped looking… we dare you to dive in. ~ Madelyn Olson

Dive on into ALL of Kasey’s strikingly defiant anarchistic illustrations, as well as our other past featured artists, at our Mad Gallery!

••• The Poetry Forum •••

This last week on Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forum… we got a little bit of playing while it went without saying; we didn’t enable the gun on the table; we managed a fuss with a man on the bus; we took the left-hand track, guarding Crusoe’s back; we saw a first-time man’s take on morning after pancakes; we blessed a soul in a supporting role; we bake show swirled into a better world. Always cooking, for ideas looking. ~ MH Clay

An Oasis of Wholesomeness by Agnes Vojta

I turn off the news, switch
to the Great British Bakeoff
where the worst disaster is a pie
with a soggy bottom or a cake
stuck in the tin. I watch deft fingers
separate eggs, grate lemon zest,
construct confections that are feasts
for eye and palate, taste and texture
just right, the flavors coming through,
pastry melting in the mouth. I hunger
to get in my kitchen and bake.
The footage has been cut to focus
on the hugs, the hands that help lift
a cake onto its stand, the arms that comfort
the baker whose tart dropped on the floor.
I want to live in a world like that.

July 5, 2025

editors note: Don’t we all? – mh clay

She Deserves Her Heaven by Roderick Richardson

I know that someone else is waiting for her
In the Afterlife, and the arms that will hold
Her for Eternity will not be mine.

And that’s okay. She deserves her Heaven.

The Heaven that was here with her on
This Earth for years. But in this movie
Called Love, Death can be a cruel intermission.

I hope until then, I can fill that void the best I can.

Even though she deserves more than that.

Because, when I say that when she walks,
She leaves trails of ruby dust as footprints,
It is not a wasted line to get snaps.

I know what it is to not be the main character,
And my role is to love and comfort her. Hopefully,
Until the day she dies and returns to her true love.

Because, she deserves her Heaven.

And where will I be? If God sees fit, I will be
On stage amongst my fellow Mad Ones as
They sit next to their soulmates being entertained.

I hope she’ll be there as well.

And as they disappear into the stars,
A basketball court awaits me in the back.
And I’ll go to see who got next.

July 4, 2025

editors note: A stand-in’s story, awaiting intermission. – mh clay

The first time I had sex by Guest Poet J. M. Hussey Jr.

The first time I had sex, I knew I made a mistake
because in the morning she told me she wanted pancakes.
I was sure I told her the night before how much I hated them.
Hate is a strong word, but so is the smell of maple syrup, please leave.
She didn’t and I made her pancakes and we had sex again
which did not settle well with the pancakes bloating my insides.
I do not like pancakes but I do like having sex so it’s a sacrifice
I’m willing to make, but it’d be nice if she’d text me in advance,
hey we’re going to do it, please make pancakes after.
But seriously, I can literally cook anything you dream of
and you want pancakes?
I hung out with my grandmother one time ten years before
she died. She made pancakes for us, and her husband
challenged me to a pancake eating contest, a few years before he
told me how fat I was. 10 pancakes to 9, I was fat, but at least
I was a winner. It was the only overnight we had with that grandma.
My family loves pancakes, and I do not. I wondered
if I was adopted. Like they all got the pancake genes and
I don’t like pancakes that much, and I don’t really understand why anyone
would purposely go to an all-you-can-eat pancake event.
We had pumpkin pancakes one year for Thanksgiving,
in lieu of the turkey and fixings we couldn’t afford.
I don’t really like pancakes, but blueberry or plain ones
would have been better. But I guess it is Thanksgiving so
pumpkin is very posh, very in. Sometimes when people
are having that binary argument for faux connection about
pancakes versus waffles, I am convinced I am alien
lost in a conversation about breakfast foods I don’t want to eat
unless it means we’re going to have sex after. But yeah,
as I get older, I’d probably pass on both if it meant
no pancakes.

July 3, 2025

editors note: When “all you can eat” is nothing you want. – mh clay

Gulf of Amerigo by Wayne F. Burke

I walk the empty beach
feeling like Caliban, the
first man, or maybe
just best known, after
Adam; after Leif Erikson
who vacationed in Nova
Scotia—
I sit where Robinson Crusoe
sat with his grass hat and
man Friday who
covered the jungle at
Crusoe’s back…
Everyday always the same:
waves flopping or
galloping-in, and
mad gods in the sky—
horizon full of shark—
did Crusoe forget what
girls looked like?
A left-handed wife, Rose-y Palm
and her five sisters
for diversion, for
fun, if
you can call it that.

July 2, 2025

editors note: Desert isle monotony. What else can one do? – mh clay

Destroyer by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

The man who sat down
beside me this morning on the bus
looked like the type of guy
who plays his Kiss records real loud
while his woman is in the bathroom
removing her makeup.

I asked him for the launch codes
to every fresh argument,
a total destroyer
this one.

While the lunchboxes for arms
fiddled with their factory floor
steel-toes.

And the lead foot driver
missed my stop.

July 1, 2025

editors note: When your destiny is the ride, not the destination. – mh clay

THE ANSWER by Tony Robinson

It’s like when the air
Is warm and fat
Pregnant with rain

The clouds writhe in labor
But won’t give birth

The answer is everywhere, unseen,
Like the suffocating hyacinth

It’s like that gun on the table

June 30, 2025

editors note: Maybe best not to ask that question. – mh clay

Storm in the Head by John Duarte

Another step
stopped counting them
a long time ago
don’t wanna stay
in any place
too long
keeping these feet
flat on the ground
sure as hell
i’ll get there
wherever that is
but not too long
got to be a little bit
of play
or
you’re just wasting time
a limited commodity
goes without saying
sure as hell
i’ll get there
Angel or Devil
played a bit of both
damn
looked in the mirror
need a shave
seems
always something going
on
sure as hell
i’ll get there

June 29, 2025

editors note: There is far from here, so covet those commodities. – mh clay

••• Short Stories •••

If you need a read then take a trip on into “Simultaneity“ by Featured Writer Michael Kozart!

Here’s what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about our featured weekend read:

Here today, but where tomorrow?

Here’s how how this clock ticks:

Eternity Isn’t Timeless by Tyler Malone

It used to be Simpson’s News—our joint for comic books. Dozens of kids flipped through comics in bins along a wall to my right. Now the wall sports shelves of thermoses, espresso beans, mugs. As I walk about the café, I hear my name. In a corner, a man with pointy ears toasts me with a paper cup. I remember—I think it’s—Levi Gerstel.

He was called Levi the Keebler Cookie Elf on account of those ears, and me, Morrison Metal Mouth—thanks to braces. About the only physical feature we had in common was scrawniness. We were every bully’s fantasy.

Each afternoon, at the final bell at Santa Monica Middle, we’d race to Simpson’s with a dozen others. We were usually butted and swatted away from the bins with the best comics. But there was one bin in a corner next to the kitty litter that held the rejects, mostly prototypes—comics the execs wanted to test in small batches before major release. This was where Levi and I had free reign, each issue eighty percent off.

We discovered Bumble the Human Bee pollinating flowers and stinging arch enemies, Patches the Teenage Skate Punk rescuing orphans off the street, and Helminth the Spiny Caterpillar protecting the ugly from ridicule. None of these concoctions would ever spawn a series or blockbuster movie, but we took them home and fan-fictioned them to no end on composition books that no bully could ever want or seize.

For a time, it was all we needed—our prototypes…

Keep on trippin’ right here!

•••

If you’re debating whether you need a read today, “Debility“ by Contributing Writer & Poet Susie Gharib should solve that dilemma.

Here’s what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about our weekday featured read:

Meaning in everyday survival is what takes a voice away from fear of death, and fear of life.

Here’s how this dialogue between sick & tired starts:

Death is an Open Window by Tyler Malone

“You can finally claim this flimsy thing with the tenacious will for I vouchsafe to have rendered her an easy prey. Her muscles are overstrained. Her heart is flickering like the light of a sinking ship. You can dip your fangs in her waning strength,” expostulates Fatigue to his comrade.

Viewing the much-coveted victim with a troubled mind, Disease questions the validity of his comrade’s diagnostic statement: “She looks feeble enough, but apparently there is something else that sustains her.”

“You do not believe in this rubbish about souls and invisible strength. I tell you she will not last more than a week in your grip,” Fatigue confidently responds in the arrogant tone of a newly promoted fiend.

Disease grins and is evidently flattered, yet something withholds him from striking at once. He has been down that road a few times and failure has piqued his pride. The frail thing, who is named after a flower he hates, is reluctant to succumb, despite traumas and ailments that have been plaguing her since infancy.

“You look thoughtful, comrade, you must be brewing something in that ugly skull of yours,” states Fatigue…

Find out who wins in the end right here!

••• Open Mic •••

This past 1st Wednesday of July (aka 07.02.25) Mad Swirl Open Mic was found whirling up the Swirl at Barbara’s Pavillion, getting the Mad mic opened for ALL you Mad ones out there!

This month we featured longtime Swirler, Contributing Poet, artist and birder, Alan Gann!

Grats to ALL the participators & appreciators who graced our stage:

Hosts:
MH Clay
Opalina Salas

Musical Overture:
Swirve (Chris & Tamitha Curiel, Gerard Bendiks)

Open Mic:
MH Clay
Opalina Salas
Harry McNabb
Desmene Statum
VP Crowe
Tony Robinson
Will Richey
SR Gilbert
Antoine Votaw
David Shannon
Darius Frasier
Kevin Lee Hitchings
Todd Buckley w/ Greg
Martin Hache
Hannah Elliott Lindh

We know you have a choices of what to do with your Wednesday night & we’re thrilled you picked lil ol’ us to hang out with!

Stay tuned ’til next 1st Wednesday (aka 08.06.25) when we will be featuring Joey Cloudy!

Peace,
Johnny O

••• Podcast •••

Listen on Patreon OR on Spotify!

••• Fundraiser •••

Thanks to ALL who have already donated to our fundraiser! We’re 43% closer to our goal! For those who still might wanna lend a hand, it’s not too late. EVERY dollar donated will go towards growing our collective creative outlet… and you can say you helped!

•••••••

The whole Mad Swirl of everything to come keeps on keepin’ on… NOW! Every second, every minute, every hour, every day, every week, every month, every year, every decade, every EVERY there is! Wanna join in the mad conversations going on in our Mad Swirl world? Then come by whenever the mood strikes! We’ll be here…

Bein’ real,

Johnny O
Chief Editor

MH Clay
Poetry Editor

Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor

Madelyn Olson
Visual Editor