QB
Staff of QB
breaking
KEN KAKAREKA
2 mexican
men
breaking
for lunch
from the
car wash
next door.
they carry
tall
sweaty
ice cold
beers
in 97
degree heat.
their smiles
are the smiles
of an
american’s
first time
in paris
or children
on christmas
morning.
for 1 hr.
they will
laugh
in the Face
of
an America
that has
us all
by
the balls.
they will
laugh
at whoever
promised
their
independence
upon arrival.
they will
laugh
at the
lost art
of a
mid-afternoon
buzz
in the
Face of
the Man.
they will
laugh
b/c
it’s all
you
can do
when you
realize
the irony
of it
all.
they are
not
breaking
for lunch
so much
as they
are breaking
for Freedom.
Core
ERIN JAMIESON
you pretend the apples aren’t
bruised, peeling skin to reveal
mushy white flesh, never once
looking at me- french manicure
fading even though you were told
it would last weeks
from now, maybe I’ll remember
the tilt of sunlight on your soft pink hair
or the way your lip trembles
as I take your peels, discard them as if it’s that easy
to forget us
It was bad weather for an exhibit
With ominous clouds that conquered the air
And the gallery seemed to inhibit
Those colors destined to drive out despair
The sign said, “Touch, we will not prohibit”
So, my father plopped himself in a chair
At the window, in a manner most crass
He fell asleep with his foot on the glass!
Fumes
MARIO SENZALE
The contractor who was supposed to install my kitchen hood died.
He shouldn't be resting in peace; he should be installing my hood.
The Collection of Sunlight
BETTY STANTON
I was hired to collect what was left of the light.
At first it was too fragile. I didn’t understand the way it clung to shards of old glass and drifted through dust like lost scriptures. Eventually I learned how to handle it, and now I keep it in jars labelled with years that no longer mean anything.
When the others sleep, I open them. The light moves, restless, as if it remembers the fields and faces it is meant for. I’m the only one of us who can hear the way it hums, who can understand it. It sings that bodies still want to be seen in the light.
I send my findings into the dark.
NO GUTS NO GORY: MACABRE QUEST TUTORIAL
ANTHEA JONES
You spawn upon a grassy rise.
Pink-fingered dusk creeps across the sky. Ahead, a cobbled path stretches towards the horizon. On three sides, the Dreadwoods scream your name. What do you do?
>> Follow the path
Are you serious? You bought a game called ‘No Guts No Gory’ and you're taking the path? Sheesh. Try again.
>> Inspect Dreadwoods
The Dreadwoods take their name seriously. You observe the twisted toothy branches, strung up skeletons and rivulets of blood-red sap. A gaping chasm opens in the pit of your stomach. You pat your abdomen and your hand slips straight inside! Your intestines wrap round your wrist in squelching knots and your liver pulses in your fingertips.
>> Pull out hand
Relax! It was a mirage. Now get your ass in there.
>> Enter Dreadwoods
You take charge of your destiny and stride towards the Dreadwoods. You're no chickenshit. As you enter, the last rays of sunlight fade and you glory in the opportunity to breach the cusp in full darkness. Your foot brushes a tendon trip-wire and a pile of bones drops from above, gifting you a macabre wig of carpals and metacarpals. What do you do?
>> Rip off bone wig. Dance like a madman and give thanks for this magnificent gift.
Well, Hallelujah. That completes the tutorial. What did you learn?
>> Go with it
Yep. Trust your instincts are against the nature of this game, and do the opposite.
Ready to play for keeps?
Results may vary
IAN STEWART
“Hang on!” I shouted. Joey was still in the other room and making an absolute mess of it. I winced as something shattered.
My fingers stuck to the pages of the user guide and I had to pry them off as I flipped through, leaving behind smudgy fingerprints. It wasn’t my blood, but that didn’t make me feel much better.
“‘Welcome to your new life of adventure,’” I read aloud. “‘Getting Started, Lunar Calendars, Jewelry to Avoid…’” I heard Joey scream, inhuman and not a bit reassuring. “Yeah, I hear you buddy—ah! Found it! ‘Troubleshooting: We hope you are satisfied.” Another crash shook the walls. It sounded like a door falling off its hinges. “‘However, shapeshifting can be unsettling and results may vary. If you are unsatisfied with your decision, you have options.’ Great! Hear that, Joey? Options!”
Something crashed down the hallway, slamming from wall to wall like the world’s scariest game of Pong.
“‘You may consider relocating to a planet with a different or smaller moon.’ What?” I flipped to the last page, which was blank aside from the company’s mocking, toothy logo. “Well. That’s not helpful at all.” Something heavy slammed against the door. “Wait wait wait—there’s a number! It says to call if we’re still unsatisfied. We’re unsatisfied, right?” Another sickening thud and a splintered crack. “Let’s call.” The door exploded inward, replaced with a grotesque mass of bloodied fur and sharp ends. “Hey Joey,” I whimpered. “Haven’t seen my phone, have you?”
Spiders in continuous wind
DS MAOLALAI
like a rotating crane
towers over a
foundation pit.
you ever think
you can all the way
finish? I know,
man, I know
that you can't, but
then sometimes
I wish it: that we could
just build and be
done, having built it;
not maintain
for the rest of our
stink-fucking
parasite
lives.