Tag Archives: Devin Kelly

FLAPPERHOUSE Reading #20, In Pictures

A gazillion gallons of glittery gratitude to everyone who helped make last night’s reading such a groovy deee-lite: Kim, Armando, Sarah, Anthony, and Devin for performing your flappy lits; Alibi Jones for your scintillating singing & photography; Pacific Standard for the ever-gracious hospitality; and all you gorgeous people who came in from the unseasonable warmth to witness it all…we’ll see you again on March 21…

[photos by Alibi Jones]

Kim Coleman Foote reads stories inspired by playing with the letters in her friends’ names

Armando Jaramillo Garcia recites poetry about atomic towns & unrecognized philosophy

Sarah Bridgins shares some glamorous poems about rosé & paintings of Real Housewives

Continue reading FLAPPERHOUSE Reading #20, In Pictures

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FLAPPERHOUSE Reading #20 / YEAR FOUR Flight Party

Join us Wednesday night, February 21, from 7-9 PM at Pacific Standard (82 Fourth Ave in Brooklyn) as we celebrate FOUR YEARS of FLAPPERHOUSE with our TWENTIETH reading and launch our 2017 print anthology!

starring

SARAH BRIDGINS

ANTHONY CAPPO

KIM COLEMAN FOOTE

ARMANDO JARAMILLO GARCIA

ALIBI JONES

DEVIN KELLY

Admission is FREE, and print copies of FLAPPERHOUSE – YEAR FOUR will be available for the special reading price of $10.

facebook event page here

Our Most-Viewed Pieces of 2017 Were…

Eyes – Nuri Iyem, 1979

Before we set our sights completely on 2018, let’s look at the pieces from 2017 that attracted the most eyeballs to our site…

10. “When I Die Someone Just Fuck My Body Please,” Ian Kappos’ punker-than-hell poem from our Summer 2017 issue.

9. “Picnic” A. E. Weisgerber’s potent & evocative flash fiction which served as the opening piece of our killer & cinematic Spring 2017 issue.

8. “Drought,” Kim Coleman Foote’s eerily surreal & fable-like flash prose which kicked off our Fall 2017 issue.

7. “Summer Water,” one of two witty & intoxicating poems by Sarah Bridgins in our Summer 2017 issue.

6. “Mission Concept,” Pete H.Z. Hsu’s trippy & unearthly (and Best of the Net-nominated) flash fiction that launched our Summer 2017 issue.

5. “Caulking the Wagon,” Devin Kelly’s poetic meditation on suffering & classic computer games, from our Summer 2017 issue.

4. “Love Song of a Femme Fatale on Scholarship,” Maria Pinto’s frisky & infatuating flash fiction from our Winter 2017 issue.

3. “Torture Game”, Ryan Bradford’s fiendish short fiction about a dark night at the drive-in, from our Spring 2017 issue.

2. “Left Behind,” Kaj Tanaka’s brief yet profoundly haunting flash fiction, and the grand finale of our Summer 2017 issue.

1. “The Cake,” Jonathan Wlodarski’s deliciously disturbing (and Pushcart Prize-nominated) short fiction from our Winter 2017 issue.

“Caulking the Wagon” – Poetry by Devin Kelly

A classic computer game inspires meditations on suffering & struggle in “Caulking the Wagon,”  one of two darkly beautiful & profoundly moving poems by Devin Kelly in our Summer 2017 issue.

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after Nate Marshall’s “The Oregon Trail”

IN THE CLASSROOM, I GATHER KIDS around & make them relive
my childhood. I type their names into the wagon, call myself
a carpenter because I know a wheel will break eventually.
I have no desire to spend my money on what can be repaired.
Dirty sweat & knowledge. The human condition is always
in need of upkeep. Because I know a house is not a home,
I ask them to imagine our wood lined with fur, a mess
of rug begging for the shaking out. We will take turns.
We will leave as the last frost thaws free the first flowers
of spring. There’s no option to pause the game & bend
to harvest milkweed. There was no vase for sale
in Independence, Missouri. We will deliberate the crossing
of water, delegate the tasks required to caulk the wagon –
who here has not hammered tar-soaked cotton into a wedge
in order to keep their body dry? How easy our suffering,
that we may make the pace grueling. How we stop
to view a tombstone & laugh when Michael dies
of dysentery. In our heads we know there is no time –
we will bury his body with the one shovel we own,
taking turns in heat, & leave above him just a pile of stone
some stranger might use to bludgeon an animal into meat.
                                                                              This isn’t real.
Not the sun, not the pixelated bullet slow-twirling
to kill the buffalo, not the purple mountains swirling
round the plains. When I was younger, I believed
in this nation’s majesty, each loss a synonym for some
greater gain. But look. Even here, the children are dying
one-by-one, lost first to cholera & water, then to what
this game offers no name. A bullet, a color, a wrong place
once thought safe – call the outside of this school a mass
grave, a massacre, a high mass turned toward God in a language
riddled with blood. The oxen are bowing their knees, bending
weary heads to push the earth away. There are no pixels
in heaven. There is only the song of your life sung backward
through the mouths we call the stars. You listen & feel
the wagon wheel’s roll, the crunch of it winding in reverse,
the land unbound & unnamed, the paper turning back to trees,
the trees un-leaning their way toward sky, all of eternity
driven back to dawn. By which I mean the promise of something,
that slick patch of morning when what you expect is the same
as what you hope. When my father returned from the West
he brought back a soft pack of cigarettes & a custom
cowboy hat. His mother was still alive. Later, no one sang
at her funeral, or if they did, I don’t remember. There was
only my father & his returning no longer a story & how his brother
left for West so many years ago & never came home. Most days
I want to give in to nostalgia, surrender my body to the burn
of light curling at the edges of a memory, trade old stories
like currency.  Sometimes the going-on is the dirty speckle
on the petal of a rose, beauty gone to hiding. There’s no option
to turn back, the kids say. How will we carry all that meat onto
the wagon? The sky does not look like that. They sigh. They moan
open their mouths like fish to unhook themselves from twine. This game
sucks, they say. This game sucks, this game sucks, this game sucks.

{ X }

Continue reading “Caulking the Wagon” – Poetry by Devin Kelly

FLAPPERHOUSE Reading #16, In Pictures

A sky-full of thank-yous to everyone who helped make Reading #16 such an unforgettable affair : Ron, Francine, Devin, Kailey, Gabriela, and Leland for performing your flappy lits; Alibi for your lovely via-satellite singing; Pacific Standard for your always-gracious hospitality; and all you magnificent people who came & graced us with your presence.
We hope to see you again in the Fall…

Ron Kolm recounts tales of his bookstore-working days

Francine Witte reads a heartbreaking poem of parenthood

Devin Kelly reads his Oregon Trail-inspired poem “Caulking the Wagon”
Continue reading FLAPPERHOUSE Reading #16, In Pictures

FLAPPERHOUSE Reading #16 / Issue 14 Flight Party

We’re gonna throw your brain off a freaking plane as we celebrate the flight of our Summer 2017 issue with our 16th reading! Wednesday night, June 28, 7-9 PM at the always-hospitable Pacific Standard, 82 Fourth Avenue in Brooklyn.

starring
LELAND CHEUK
GABRIELA GARCIA
ALIBI JONES (via satellite)

DEVIN KELLY
RON KOLM
KAILEY TEDESCO
FRANCINE WITTE

Admission is FREE, and you can buy copies of FLAPPERHOUSE #14 for the special reading price of $5.

Facebook event page here

Our 2017 Pushcart Prize Nominations

Two and a Pushcart - Kazimir Malevich, 1911
Two and a Pushcart – Kazimir Malevich, 1911

Our nominations for the 2017 Pushcart Prize, which will honor work published by little magazines & small presses in 2016, are:

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“The Cake” – short fiction by Jonathan Wlodarski (FLAPPERHOUSE #12, Winter 2017, coming December 21)
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Congratulations & best of luck to all our nominated writers, and thank you for contributing your phenomenal work to our weird little zine!