“You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you mad.”

Aldous Huxley

••• The Mad Gallery •••

“Cogitatio II” by Featured Artist Karina Horgas

To see ALL of Karina’s curiously intricate and richly imagined works, as well as the rest of our Resident Artist’s works, visit our Mad Gallery!

••• The Poetry Forum •••

This last week on Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forum… we struck no strain on a midnight train; we staged a start with open heart; we lined up to climb up; we steel balled our minds for naked star shine; we heard wind sing to a dreamed bee sting; we wished for yore to be much more; we burned through sets with no regrets; we saw through sadness with bits of madness. Maybe crazy, never lazy. ~ MH Clay

A Helpful Insanity by Joseph Farley

It can take a bit of madness
to get you through the day,
the ability to see the world
as different than it is,
finding what you need
to be there,
when it probably is not.

July 25, 2026

editors note: This is how we do it every day around here. – mh clay

ACCEPTANCE OF ALONE by Roger G. Singer

it was from burned seasons
and hard labor
a harvest of strange eyes
within a fever mist,
words etched on glass
with broken rules
and veiled threats
while honoring barbed lines
and stormy wrinkles
here without regret

July 24, 2026

editors note: How anyone gets from there to here… – mh clay

Somehow by Stephen Jarrell Williams

Being too young
a blessing

the sky
never ending

beliefs
flowing through hearts

yesterday
will never be again

but somehow
much much more…

July 23, 2026

editors note: What’s done today can make it so. – mh clay

The wind that whispered by Soumya Doralli

These thoughts of the wind whispering a secret and then minding its own business befuddle me. I hold open the rivulet meandering through my skin, inch by inch, seeking a parched patch of land. It doesn’t suit you I say to paint me blue, to let a bead tear open my crevices, and then permeate my spirit. I once fumbled with a pen that refused to obey me. It is very strange to have things and then have them consume you. I seeped into mud and threw my hands up hoping the sky would fetch me, hoping that time would cease to matter, but the wind lifted its tangent limb and blew the dirt into my eyes, my eyes that wouldn’t open until the day brought news of the moon, the moon that had wandered way too far, to the lonely lonely night on the other side they say. Trinkets excite me, me that is stunned with legs in the bog. I wave at a bee hoping it would sting me out of my dream, my dream that has sojourned in another body, in another life. Here I am pecked by my robin, my robin’s been singing since I blew out the lamp.

July 22, 2026

editors note: What it’s like to be the wind’s trinket. (Congratulations to Soumya on the release of her new novel, Those Ripples Call Me Home. For this, she won The Legacy of Literature Award, 2026 by The Literature Times in the best coming-of-age fiction category. You can get your copy here.)

Steel Ball Run by Brian Duran-Fuentes

To chase the cross inverted at the bottom
of the undulated shot glass,
in dreams of grasshoppers summoned
to a circle of earth and fire.

To possess as ghostly ripple
a stomach that floats in the rain,
subconscious crystal satellite
to digest the agave blues.

We come to a ditch between palaces,
race of stallions on fire
after holy and babbling corpses,
the names of heavy metal bands.

Let blind kings fierce wars maintain,
in boats in pursuit of cetaceans,
phalluses panting for emerald lights,
white judge who dances and does not die.

Dirty deeds done dirt cheap,
incarnations in parallel worlds,
raise dinosaurs out of nowhere,
an ambush in churches of sand.

My ghostly entrails will endure
on the road singing boleros
while the megalopolis strips naked
and shines her stars on the hills.

July 21, 2026

editors note: It takes big ones to work on your star tan. – mh clay

Standing Room Only by Ian Mullins

Is there a booking fee? I suspect
there is. You give them your details
and you invent a password;
the only part requiring creativity.
But you don’t trust the password forest
you hack every day, so you play safe;
add a number to any old flame.
Now relax; play the waiting game.
Approval comes in two to three days;
or perhaps you’ll be invited
to try again next year.

Let’s assume the fates
were on your side and you’ve made
the waiting list. The e-mail
advises you to plan ahead,
think what you’ll need for your
trip of a lifetime. You’ll need
to gather sponsors, those fig-leaves
of charity, and remember to pre-book
a handy hotel. Most of those
will have a waiting list too.
You might want to upgrade
your phone: you’ve only two minutes
for selfies before the next conqueror
climbs up. Perhaps only then,

distracted by those sheer white plains
soft as your favourite toilet paper,
those rare rocks that have never felt
the scrape of stick, the skid
of boot, you’ll wonder what it ought
to mean. It’s not as though
it’s never been done before.
Those well-blooded slopes
are school yard virgins
cherry-plucked every summer.

But the modern world is so
well-trodden, what else can you do
but add it to your bucket list?
Imagine walking into the office
Monday morning, telling the boss
you spent your Leave
climbing Everest. Course you did,
he’ll answer with a wink.
Looks nothing like AI.

July 21, 2026

editors note: And with AI, we won’t have to go at all but still wait in line. – mh clay

Characters in search of a playwright by Guest Poet Janette Schafer

John whispers his first words in my
ear, and I make space in my brain for him.

He is not like Virginia, who walked in
triumphantly, sure of her place
among the props and scenery.

He is sly, calculating.
This is not a download,
but a seduction. He does
not hurry, bides his time.

I open myself
crack my sternum—
wait for him.

July 20, 2026

editors note: No open heart perjury here. – mh clay

3 Haiku: On Track by M. R. Pelletier

Amtrak
learning I can count on
being delayed

•

a gap in the fence
the driver pulls hard
on the whistle

•

night train
women whisper
in the seat behind me

July 19, 2026

editors note: Keeping track(s) of(on) time. – mh clay

••• Short Stories •••

If you’re in need of a colorful read, check out “At the End of a Steak Knife and a Dog’s Tongue“ by our newest Contributing Writer, Holden Arquilevich!

Here’s how this multi-colored drama begins:

“Lost Queen” by Tyler Malone

Red Dress spoke to Green Dress holding Blue Dress. Green Dress was limp and paralyzed and suspected poison. Red Dress held Blue Dress very tightly and was concerned after her, and spoke terrible things to Green Dress, and ate a dog’s tongue on her plate with a fork and steak knife. In came Yellow Dress with more to eat. Yellow Dress served Red Dress holding Blue Dress and once done serving spoon fed Green Dress and let the porridge dribble down her chin. Red Dress ate slowly and enjoyed watching this. Blue Dress suddenly woke up and screamed, swiping and batting at Red Dress. Red Dress dropped her fork in alarm and Blue Dress fell to the ground and was about to crack her tooth on a white tile, but it was not a white tile. It was White Dress lying flat on the ground in camouflage, and she caught Blue Dress and cradled her in safety, and Blue Dress could not believe her luck and could not believe she was looking in the eyes of one she loved so much. This enraged Red Dress who assumed White Dress was killed in the sinking of a cargo ship; a disaster Red Dress had arranged; an expensive scheme, but worth the lost cargo to rid herself of White Dress (or so she thought). White Dress was in love, and stupid, and that stupid love had driven her to survival through a month of drinking sea water and breaking open the floating cans of compressed meat which were just as salty as the sea water, and White Dress’s esophagus was burnt and raw from so many days of salt, and Blue Dress could see that from just looking down her throat, but she did not care because she loved White Dress…

If you wanna know which dress wins in the end, float on over here!

•••

If gettin’ in a read is on your schedule today, then “What Dreams Are Made Of“ by Contributing Writer David Sydney will find you checkin’ that box!

Here’s how this scheduled story starts:

“Choices (One Choice)” by Tyler Malone

THE NIGHT BEFORE

Mel couldn’t sleep well. He had an appointment with his dentist, Dr. Fromberg, in the morning. None of Sam Fromberg’s patients could sleep well the night before an appointment. Mel had a lumpy mattress, which didn’t help either.

TEETH

Whenever he faced a dental appointment, Mel thought seriously about his teeth, which otherwise he didn’t think about. He also brushed his teeth vigorously the night before seeing Dr. Fromberg in the hope of improving his, well, standing in the eyes of his dentist, if sitting in a dental chair with his mouth open, packed with cotton and dental devices could be called standing.

AIDS

Toothpaste is a dental aid, so Mel used plenty of toothpaste the night before. But he needed sleeping aids. That’s where Xanax came in. That’s where trazodone came in. Otherwise, Mel never could’ve slept.

THE MORNING OF

He awoke for his appointment. But what the hell … An extra Xanax and trazodone in the morning after he brushed his teeth one last time – maybe a few extra – right, he needed them, his aids that doubled as anti-anxiety medication. So, yes, staggering back to a lumpy mattress, Mel could then kiss Sam Fromberg’s appointment goodbye…

Get the WHOLE DAY of events right here!

••• Open Mic •••

Join Mad Swirl this 1st Wednesday of August (aka 08.05.26) when we’ll be doin’ the open mic voodoo that we do at Barbara’s Pavillion!

We will get things started with some musical grooves brought to you by special musical guest, Tocayo starring Carlos Salas! Then, starting at 8pm(ish), hosts Johnny O & MH Clay will set the stage for some open mic madness!

This month we will be featuring Tyler Malone & launching his book “Son of a Chicken Killer“ (brought to you by Mad Swirl Press). Here’s a bit about Tyler & his book:

Tyler Malone is from Texas and lives in the United States (for now.) He’s a photographer and poet who’s working on his first novel. Son of a Chicken Killer is his only first book worth mentioning.

Taking care of the art of others has been a long-lasting source of volcanic bliss, and he knows so because he’s been the short fiction editor for Mad Swirl since 2012. He’s seen the world through stories up to 1,000 words, and they have filled the space between his ears and Earth’s upper atmosphere.

Come one. Come all.

Come to participate…

(preRSVP at our Facebook event page or send a message to openmic@madswirl.com)

Come to swirlabrate…

(join us LIVE at Barbara’s Pavillion- located at 323 Centre St, Dallas OR watch us on Facebook LIVE)

Come to be a part of this collective creative love child we affectionately call… Mad Swirl Open Mic!

•••••••

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…

Truly Mad,

Johnny O
Chief Editor

MH Clay
Poetry Editor

Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor

Madelyn Olson
Visual Editor