Spent Meat
April 2003 Issue TWO
________________________________

[Sometimes I Wish I Could Be Like Them But I'll Never Be] dan provost

I've read the whiny poets who
write about requesting a Mint Julep at 2 PM
at some fern place-then report on the waiter's
demeanor as he sets a glass on the table
that contains two ice cubes
and a pretty red umbrella.

Their "stuff" is always printed
in literary magazines that reject me.
I'm not even an outsider
looking in on these pages.

I'm a yellowed-toothed guy, who sits
among humanities ruins and seek
my next observation fix.
Dankness I can see and feel.

Forthright and glaring wit is good
for some, but old grit grows comfortably
when you cup your beer and
have nothing incredible to say.

Just a silent prayer that I have
survived another hour of visceral
nourishment-and the masses that refuse
to pass judgment still can be found
and witnessed

Somewhere.

________________________________
Featured Website: Remark Magazine

Remark Magazine is a online journal of small press poetry and chapbook reviews. Each issue is chock full of small press authors you don't want to miss. In the cool idea department, site editor Justin Barrett has begun inviting past contributers to act as editors for an issue. Issues have been edited by salvatore, Ryan Rowe, and Glenn W. Cooper is set to edit the next issue. Check it out.
________________________________
[Featured Poetess] jackie goldstein

Rick Moonfly The Rocker And God

Staggered into a cantina,
And sank into an empty booth
To knock back mineral water
Spiked with lemon.

"Consider this.," God said.
"Your life is an external existence
Stagnant like the heavy air in this bar.
An extravagant mess,
Filled with skin tight leather pants
To intrigue sex-deprived woman
And sweet young boys.
Another famous idol suspended
For a second flash broadcast
On greeting cards and calendars.
Each city, country and hotel
Checked in your brain without
Impression.

God waited decades for a response.

"My soul soars on stage," Moonfly answered.
"Fans adore me. I have a Jaguar."

Startled awake God rubbed dusk
From his eyes.
"A soul soars when it's quiet.
There is no love in constant flux
And accumulation."

"They need to worship pagan idols," Moonfly said.

God shook her head and buried
It in massive hands for an
Eternity. "Idols are flat objects,
Thousands for each note you sing.
Love one person as an open
Sky and follow no body
As a holographic image."

"Can I use those as lyrics in a song?" Moonfly asked.

"Breathe them," God sighed.

Welcome to [Issue Two] of Spent Meat, a non-academic literary journal published by rcpoet.com.
Editors Notes:

1. I am a writer not an editor.
2. The goal was to publish this thing every 2 months or whenever I felt the urge. The urge is here because of some very cool submissions. You get an early issue kiddies. So if the next one is late...we are even in the slack department.
3. Joe Wilson, contrary to rumor, is not my son (thank the lord and say amen for condoms). But he does owe me a few drinks. So get your maladjusted ass to Tucson boy!
4. Want some seriously ass kicking chapbooks by Justin Barrett, Glenn Cooper, Jason Bridges, Dan Provost, and Alexander Shaumyan? Head over to Spent Angel Chapbooks and grab one. I dare you.

RC Edrington
__________________________________________________________________

[grim notes] Joe Wilson

10:00 a.m.

My ears are ringing. I have not slept in two days. I am hanging out with Matt up at this cafe and this silly fucker is tripping mushrooms.

On a side note, this is my opinion on the world and related issues: If you walk by and see me fucking the ground, don't ask just keep fucking walking. Drop bombs or wave your fucking peace symbols. Whatever you got to do, I'm going to be ejaculating into mother earth.

Last night, or atleast early this morning sounded like "AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" Yes. Stomping and screaming through the night like a bunch of crazed fucking lunatics, with my boys "Reclaimed", (a Heavy Metal band in Denver -check m' out). A fifth of Jim Beam. I lost count of beers. Sorry if my writing sucks right now. I'm not feeling poetic. I'm telling you I am fucking seeing double. My ears still ringing and this silly bastard Matt is still tripping mushrooms at 10:00 a.m. Silly fucking faggot, dicks are for chicks. Check out Reclaimed, visit their website at www.reclaimed.us I am not going to get into all this review shit, but they're good. They sound like a cross between Clutch and Slip Knot. Hard "I want to fucking kill somebody" music. And if you have been watching the news, this music is perfect for the times.

Correction, after a recent cigarette break with Matt: he is not tripping mushooms he is on ecstasy. He told me he fell in love last night with somebody he was already in love with. What ever the fuck that means. This is a very confusing day and the news is flashing like a horror flick.

Have you ever had an entire town looking at you anticipating your next remark... your next words... girls flashing tits... random letter after letter telling me how they feel (suicidal)...trying not to drown in my ten minutes of fame in my own fucking ego... then at the climax of this story... all eyes on me. The crowd is silent. I move behind the microphone, trying not to vomit. I tap it to to a sound check. I clear my throat, look out onto all this shit and take a biiiiiiiig fucking whiff....it smells like...(Sniff sniff sniff sniff) BULL SHIT. And Pussy. Rank fucking trailer park bitch pussy. I hold the microphone like its my penis and begin jerking it off screaming obscenities to the gawkers in some self involved drunken rage. I throw upper cuts at invisible enemies.

So anyway, this girl approached me and asked me "How do you feel about Linda?" (Linda being a past editor I have beef with with some publication)

"Fuck that fat bitch, faggot dike cunt stretched asshole whore!" I snapped.

"Wow Joe, why don't you tell me how you really feel?" She said.

"Ok, I want to take that bitch on Jerry Springer and rape her. I'll wear a fuckin a-shirt and a john deer cap."

"Oh my god, your going to hell!"

"Yea, he probably is."

Ok then. I'm going to go home ,jerk off more than likely and try and get some sleep. Matt's rubbing up against shit giggling and he's freakin me the fuck out. Flips the Gypsy and I may be going to Casper tonight or tomorrow. I don't know why. I don't know why I'm telling you these things. Stop it pervert that tickles.
Software Review's for Authors
RoughDraft 1.8mb FREE DOWNLOAD
I am cheap and poor. As most poets are. I can't afford a fancy computer to run fancy software, nor can I afford the fancy software. Therefore, when it came time for me to select a word processor program, the software had to meet the following criteria:
1. It had to be a small program. Most word processing programs are over 15MB. This one is under 2mb
2. It couldn't swallow all my RAM. Microsoft is a resource whore. This one uses little RAM.
3. It had to have decent features specific to me needs...ie poetry and short stories. This one does.
4. It had to be shareware or freeware.
RoughDraft is a freeware word processor. Although suitable for general use, it has features specifically designed for writers of novels, short stories, articles, poetry, plays and screenplays. It's designed to be as practical as possible, offering all the features you need, but without being complicated or awkward to use. Take a look at the features of this baby on the website, then grab your free copy before this guy wakes up and starts selling it!
Copyright © 2003, Spent Angel Press, All Rights Reserved.