THE ODD MAGAZINE
ODDITY 12
anggo genorga was born and raised in the Philippines and currently resides in Dubai moonlighting as a manager of a band called Wonder Woman’s Electric Bra. Some of his recent writings can be found in Guide To Kulchur, Midnight Lane Boutique and the upcoming Hangover issue of Paper And Ink Zine.
You can read more of his poetry at deviationcummeditation.wordpress.com.
caricature
a death angel
cannot
get
laid
but
put him
in a
box
with just
a pen,
some pieces of paper
and pictures
of
his idols,
i swear to your fucking god
you’ll hear him talk of greatness
before sundown.
John Lowther’s work appears in the anthologies, The Lattice Inside (UNO Press, 2012), Another South: Experimental Writing in the South (U of Alabama, 2003), and Stone, River, Sky: An Anthology of Georgia Poems (Negative Capability Press, 2015). Held to the Letter, co-authored with Dana Lisa Young is forthcoming from Lavender Ink. John also works in video, photography, paint, performance, assemblage and other mediums.
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Would have been perfect, otherwise.
When it works it is utopia no longer.
Please don’t shampoo in the jungle.
All great truths begin as blasphemies.
This process can occur inadvertently.
Everybody’s gotta eat somebody.
Truth is always working an angle.
Darwin says your mother’s a whore.
That's a certain kind of strategy.
Everything is packed and swarming.
We're all wrapped in the same thing.
Performances perform other performances.
Now we will adjourn for warm milk and strudel.
*
We are all in paradise but refuse to see it.
Bullying is a tool you can use to get there.
Naturally, no one knows what this hole is.
Naming is always the metonymic process.
The reasons why this is unreliable are quite patent.
To that which goes unnoticed, the word everywhere applies just as well as nowhere.
Our reality, instead, lies in something more akin to conceptual art.
This picture can sometimes be funny, but it is mostly bitter.
Rage-masturbating and then crying myself to sleep.
There is only progressive euphoria.
Note on the Text
555 is a collection of sonnets whose construction is database-driven and relies on text analytic software. I crunched and analyzed Shakespeare’s sonnets to arrive at averages for word, syllable and character, these averages became measures for three sets of sonnets. The lines are all found, their arrangement is mine. Values for word, syllable and character were recorded. Typos and grammatical oddities were largely preserved. Line selection isn’t rule-driven and inevitably reflects what I read, watch, and listen to, thus incorporating my slurs and my passions as well as what amuses and disturbs me. These sonnets were assembled using nonce patterns or number schemes; by ear, notion, or loose association; by tense, lexis, tone or alliteration.Think of Pound’s “dance of the intellect among words”—The dance in question traces out a knot (better yet, a gnot) that holds together what might otherwise fly apart. I espouse only the sonnets, not any one line.
Wayne Russell is a forlorn poet that lives underneath a boulder somewhere in Sunny Florida. When no one is watching, Wayne walks his dog Sadie and writes odd poetry with his minds eye, but not for her.
Laugh Out Loud
On the rooftop looking down,
into the abyss of a fiery world,
tantrums regurgitated spasms,
thrown carelessly into this mix
of bedlams bleak chaos.
Kids playing at dusk dark, mosquito
welts upon thin arms and chicken
legs.
Some kid with skid marked shorts,
cries out, banshee wails in
tow.
Mother is no where to be seen,
father is passed out on the local
park bench, the other children
laugh out loud.
The child with the shit stained
shorts, sobs and plots his revenge.