Category Archives: Flappricana

“Love Song of a Femme Fatale on Scholarship” – Fiction by Maria Pinto

The Seven Deadly Sins, Lust - Erte
The Seven Deadly Sins, Lust – Erte

Dive into the mind of an infatuated freshman with “Love Song of a Femme Fatale on Scholarship”Maria Pinto‘s frisky flash fiction from our Winter 2017 issue.

{ X }

SOMETHING ABOUT SEEING TEACHER ON THE BUS, under the yellow light, the ridges of his brown corduroys flaccid, the finger upon which she’d always assumed she would find a gold band if she bothered to look, how the finger tapped at his bony knee, something about the way the finger had a gold band-shaped stripe on it, the stripe pale, a little indented, the way the knuckle hairs had a practiced wither there, how the stripe rendered him vulnerable as a midair-poised ass, hot, pink from slapping, something about all these things taken together made her want to push the moment, to fuck him. She did not interrogate why. She was a freshman; there was only the urgent press of do, do, do.

When he’d boarded the bus at the foot of Crippling Debt Hill, she felt him see her reading from the anthology for his class. He took the seat across from her, but she didn’t feel him look at her again. Her cheeks burned. She wanted to get up and lean over, to dot his face with damp kisses. Instead, she pretended to keep reading till the lines on the page went blurry.

What was he doing on the bus? She’d never seen him on this route. Shouldn’t an older professor at an elite university drive a reliable Prius, at least? Here was proof of the bleak state of education in this country.

The bus made a sudden stop to let a yelling passenger off and everyone lurched forward or to the side but him. She sighed.

In class today, he had said something ridiculous about a poem and she’d felt those words rumbling in her chest all afternoon. These lines know they can never know a woman. Words can never know a woman. The interior of a woman is ineffable, which earned him a laugh from the others. She knew he was not joking, so she didn’t laugh. She felt him watch her mouth as it didn’t slip open to show her teeth. Maybe he was a cad.

On the first day of the semester, his brown-black eyes had lingered on her at the end of every sentence. She’d heard somewhere that everyone thinks a good public speaker is looking at them most of all, but that didn’t stop her from playing with her lip, watching him watch her do it. All the watching felt involuntary.

Continue reading “Love Song of a Femme Fatale on Scholarship” – Fiction by Maria Pinto

“The Unfed” – Fiction by Nancy Au

gwashingtonsteethlocFalse teeth, depleted mountaintops, and mysterious fruit tarts are just a few of the key ingredients in “The Unfed,” Nancy Au‘s fantastic short story from our Winter 2017 issue.

{ X }

BEA OGILBY POPS HER NEW DENTURES into her dress pocket for safe-keeping, runs her fingers along the empty grooves & bumps of her mouth’s spongy pink mountain range. She glances at her reflection in the mirror before heading out. White hair twisted in a bun. Her smile, all gums, no more chomp and chew.

Outside, blinded by the bright September sunlight, Bea nearly stumbles over a fruit tart left on her doorstep. The mountaintop, which once protected her home from the afternoon glare, had been stolen by Ye Old Mining Company; millions of pounds of rock and dirt, acres of trees and shrubs ripped from the mountain in order to extract coal. The village’s sacred mountain could no longer be called The Great Peak because all that remained was a grizzled, flattened stump. No trees to glue the remaining boulders in place, to keep mud from surging down the steep slope and destroying the village during the next monsoon. No guide posts pointing tourists up the path, nor signs to indicate the diminished mountain ever even had a name.

Across the narrow dirt road, her neighbor, Teddy Nun, waves. “Hello there!” Teddy is working in his meager vegetable garden. Misshapen carrots and wilted kale poke out of the sandy soil. Bea bends down to pick up the tart, observes the glistening strawberries and buttery crust. She eagerly dips her finger in the sugary dew, and tastes a lick.

“Hello there!” repeats Teddy.

Bea points to the tart, “Did you see who?”

Teddy shrugs, Bea nods. His useless I don’t know shrugging responses are legendary in town. But Bea appreciates this in a neighbor, with stories and gossip flowing in only one direction across the narrow road. Like, when the last of her teeth were pulled, gums red, swollen, tender—a finger without the nail—she’d asked the incurious retiree: How does the Tooth Fairy for the elderly work? Where do your teeth go when the Tooth Fairy dies? Teddy’s response that time was a handful of ice carefully wrapped in a red dishtowel, a cold compress for Bea’s sore mouth.

{ X }

The first to perish while rebuilding the mountaintop was an aging horse with a three-year-old mentality, named Wilson. This equine senior dragged boulders and planks of knotted pine, in metal carts with leather straps, up the steep rocky trail using just his chompers. Every tooth of this odd-toed ungulate were bloody and broken by the time he reached the top. Bea had nightmares for weeks after this first death, awakening at dawn, soft mouthing the horse’s name over and over, as if in prayer.

Continue reading “The Unfed” – Fiction by Nancy Au

FLAPPERHOUSE – YEAR THREE Now Available in Print!

fhy3frontcoverFLAPPERHOUSE – YEAR THREE, now available via Amazon and CreateSpace, compiles all the surreal, shadowy, sensual, satirical lit from our third year (issues 9, X, 11, & 12) into one convenient anthology!

Featuring eternal recurrence, never-ending gender, virtual sex, mysterious machines, mangy coyotes, bacterial puppet-masters, cool devils, cheerleaders from Hell, freaky families, literary sabotage, coffee-shop assassins, Eucharist-stealing monkeys, mediocre hauntings, discreet dystopias, ravenous hunger, sinister shadows, feline behemoths, asbestos snowflakes, Marxist lice, Clara Bow, Henry Kissinger, and so much more.

fhy3backcover

“Send in the Clowns” – Poetry by Chris Muravez

Noah's Ark - Edward Hicks, 1846
Noah’s Ark – Edward Hicks, 1846

“Send in the Clowns” is Chris Muravez‘s vivid & irreverent poem from our Winter 2017 issue.

{ X }

PATROLS OF POPPY COLOR AND
kicked up under boot there
was once life no sunlight
in grand emoticons slightly bored
by rumors or mirrors.

Nothing. Not flower panties in early
morning sex scenes pursed for fucking.
There is no revolution. Deception by desire
and i fucking hate how sloppy my agency has become.

Flying fish stargaze briefly like mental notes
of we who have escaped the anthropocene.
Art is the new ark. Data mining and limp
dicks can’t stop it. Two breeding pairs
of every unstable mammal. They’ve covered
their perfection from shame. They’re as
invalid and embellished as a family of rabbits
praying the rosary
asking god and jesu christo
to clean this poet’s filthy mouth.

Tempus Fuckit.

Sideshow clowns squeeze through spandex
so sad they’ve lost light like genocide
and everyone in the museum is so white
so sans jouissance
so sans petit mort.

This crusade of fun passes out
piss cups for communion
for throats so rich with blood
their owners beg their rotten guts shut.
The body ceases to function
but they’re already dead.

{ X }

CHRIS MURAVEZ is a veteran and a poet who is tired of his own petulance. He is working on his MFA at the University of Notre Dame, where he spends most days locked in a dungeon waiting for the end of the world.

“The Number of Grains of Sand on Earth” – Poetry by Matt Alexander

The Abundant Earth - Diego Rivera, 1926
The Abundant Earth – Diego Rivera, 1926

“The Number of Grains of Sand on Earth” is Matt Alexander‘s epically awesome poem from our Winter 2017 issue.

{ X }

I GRAZE ON BEEF-FED GRASS.  Four packs
of cards left out. The clubs curdled,
so they’ll need to be discarded.  Diamonds
were fine over night; they last forever.
Retain the offal and you may find yourself
a soul departing.
Withstand enough peer pressure and perhaps
you’ll capture one as it flees.  At least
sense it.  What is it to be alive
if not to be sensate?  Life’s a game
of spades.  One pass through
the digestion system is never enough.  Sixty-four years
later and it’s never enough.
I’m sorry.  My language
has over sixty-four words

for a snowball’s chance in hell.
One for each year.  He loves you,
now, but the only way to know
if you two will make it for sure
is to appeal to sabermetrics.  Take heart:
the regressions look good.  They project
many years into the future.  Strategically adjusting the R2
results in our crossing the Rubicon
of significance. Traditionally, hell was depicted
as a cold place.  In Svalbard the candles
are expected to last only one night
but routinely last eight.  Miracles do exist.
They are called forests, and my language
has over sixty words for the way atheists
disavow them.  I appreciated your interrogation
very much, but I already discarded
all my guilt.  You won’t find my prints on it

Continue reading “The Number of Grains of Sand on Earth” – Poetry by Matt Alexander

FLAPPERHOUSE Reading #13, in Pictures

A million savage hugs to everyone who helped make last night’s reading such a vicious joy: Eric, Anthony, Mary Boo, Sylvia, Monica, Lonnie, and Bill for performing your flappy work; Alibi for your exquisite singing and photography; Pacific Standard for your most generous hospitality; and all you beautiful, charming folks who came to watch. Let’s do this again on March 22…

Photos by Alibi Jones

img_6229Eric Baker gets the show rolling with a recital of his hilarious musings

img_6243Anthony Michael Morena reads some “B-Sides” from The Voyager Record

img_6253Mary Boo Anderson is a whirlwind of poetic performance art

Continue reading FLAPPERHOUSE Reading #13, in Pictures

FLAPPERHOUSE Reading #13 / YEAR THREE Flight Party

fhreading13posterWe’re gonna throb our hearts & shake our blood as we celebrate the flight of our YEAR THREE print anthology with our 13th reading! Wednesday night, February 15, from 7 – 9 PM at Pacific Standard in Brooklyn.

starring

MARY BOO ANDERSON
ERIC BAKER
ALIBI JONES
WILLIAM LESSARD
MONICA LEWIS
LONNIE MONKA
& the late SYLVIA PLATH

Admission is FREE, and you can get your paws on our YEAR THREE print anthology before it officially goes on sale, for the special reading price of $10 (that’s 45% off the retail price)!