After work he loosened his tie and stood barefoot in the trimmed grass. He lit a cigarette and clamped it between his lips as he raked and burned neat mounds of leaves. The smell of smoke reminded him: his life was so even, he sometimes longed to crash and burn.
by Mary Renzi
Mary Renzi is a fine writer whose work will appear in Issue #18 of Blink-Ink.
She was almost in Issue #!7, but chickened out.
Hello and once again welcome. Blink-Ink has been very busy, but not so one would know buy our online persona.
Issue #17 guest edited by Robert Masterson came out a month ago and was truly a mega-monster success. If you would like
a copy drop us a note at firstname.lastname@example.org Submissions are open for issue #18 and we look forward to reading yours.
Pushcart nominees for 2014 will be announced in an other week or so,….. keep your digits crossed!
Starting as of today October first we will make an effort to post new work weekly to this website, after all why visit a site
that never changes? Too much is going on all around us. Please tell your friends, making things up is okay, read what others write,
and do something different. That’s what we’re looking for
We have very happy, thrilled even, to announce that Blink-Ink Issue #16 hits the mails tonight.
This issue we have many very good writers including Robin Stratton, Paul Beckman, Krystal Sierra,
Charles Rafferty, Dave Moorehouse and Sharon Coleman. Photography bu Jesse Anger and Doug Mathewson.
This issue marks a change in our policy of sending out complimentary copies. If we have sent you four or five or more
free copies and you have never once said one word in response we are dropping you. Publishing a print journal takes time and money, both of which are in short supply. Alternately if anyone would like to subscribe (for cheap) or even try a
copy on us please email us at email@example.com.
Not very long ago! I met myself, near the ashcan beside ‘Society Cinema Hall’, sharing muffins topped with sugary-cinnamon crumb mixture with a pair of pious grey mongrels; easy on a sack full of poesy.
I was happily scavenging for the remains of a superior form of art.
2005 summer doldrums.
Radio resonating a serenade. Pinkie (the sleepy cat) invoking the rain gods with her meows. Neighborhood boy playing with 1/cos(c) in no tearing hurry.
I was trying to feel the agony of a flunker but I flunked; there was flesh in the centerfold and I was young.
In case he didn’t survive the surgery, Dan asked Hank to delete all of the porn on his computer before his mother could see it. Dan, however, neglected to mention the poetry, short stories, essays- his life’s work.
Accepting the prestigious award, Hank decides not to thank the real author.
We are happy to announce the launch of a new publication. While we share offices and staff these
are two separate and very different markets. Broadsheets have been publish world wide for hundreds
of years. They have often been political, even slanderous in nature. We have especially admired a
broadsheet called “Kolkata Graffiti”published in Calcutta India by our friend Subhankar Das.
Today we will start mailing copies of “The Mambo Academy of Kitty Wang”. This had been a major focus of
our work for the last six months. The “First Dance’ addition includes work by Jim Wittenberg, Robert Masterson,
Rafael Gonzalez, and Doug Mathewson. Anyone who would like a copy may request one while supplies last from
Blink-Ink via email address: firstname.lastname@example.org
Thanks and wish us all luck.
Samuel lights the joint, inhales, lungs aching. His wife’s footsteps echo down the hallway, out the open front door as he exhales, emptying himself into the night sky. “My whole life is aflame,” he sighs, smoke coiling around his pursed lips.
Stories of Austin Eichelberger will be featured in the upcoming issue of Blink-Ink. “On Burning” is one small sample.
Too much like the ocean, too much affected by the sly flirtation of the moon, by the aloofness of the overbearing sun. Too old, too filled by the detritus of lives, empty treasure chests and suicides. Tickled by the fins of tiny fish, lulled by the sweep of heron wings, not immortal, but alive.
by Carol Reid
Such a nice feel to this, thank you Carol
3 bras, 2 panties, 7 leggings, 2 gold-colored tops, a maroon sweat-shirt, 4 full-sleeve t-shirts, 3 stone-washed jeans. The whole wardrobe soaked in the man’s blood whom she stabbed to death after he took her virginity. Before dumping the man’s body she took off his clothes, and locked his and hers in a suitcase. Victory and defeat-never so close.
by Debadatta Pati
Something dark from Debatta Pati, whose work will appear in our upcoming issue of Blink-Ink.
Submissions are open, we look forward to seeing your work.
Peace is just endurable solitude. I learned that when I stayed three months in the Atacama Desert.
The animals there look desolate. There weren’t many of them: mostly eaten.
I also learned there how to hold my breath, my tongue. Now, back in the city, I appreciate loneliness and silence.
by Simon Lavery
Old friend Simon Lavery drops us a curious piece from the UK, and beyond -