Tag Archives: Juliet Cook

“Drenched Mold” – Poetry by Juliet Cook & Michael Bernstein

“Drenched Mold” is one of two spectacularly squishy poems by Juliet Cook & Michael Bernstein from our Fall 2017 issue.

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A SLIME DISPENSER THAT WON’T STOP shooting it out
of order, out of order, out of clichéd slots.

I’m either screaming or I’m crying
or I’m hideously mean.
I’m a female-shaped gumball machine.

You know you can’t wait
to break me open
or throw me out the window.

I turn myself into
a ripped out placenta in the trunk
of the car. I can’t even drive.

So I’m not the one who crashed
my own slot machine and smashed you.

I’m either cheating or I’m lying,
eyeless and unseen.
An arachnid, fat on the afterbirth
of gold rush dreams.

You can’t wait to off me before my time:
a 50 ton space phallus, spreading its slime.

An entourage of pill dispensers poured inside
broken flower pots. Hubris, rat poison,
3 left gloves.

A brillo pad will shape them all
into something to snort
to cast the heavy hex down,
connect the slime balls with the cat hair.

With the rat tails, with the bat, with the anti-
establishment non-jello mold,
with the tall ships, the dead letters, the dittos
marching into crippling immediacies,
bleached and unyielding.

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Continue reading “Drenched Mold” – Poetry by Juliet Cook & Michael Bernstein

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“Never Be Stuck” – Poetry by j/j hastain & Juliet Cook

Rapunzel – Arthur Rackham, 1909

Individually, j/j hastain and Juliet Cook have contributed many flappy lits to our weird little zine over the years…but it wasn’t until our Spring 2017 issue that we finally published a collaboration between these uniquely gifted writers. Please enjoy their magically bizarre poem “Never Be Stuck” from FLAPPERHOUSE #13.

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NOT PART OF A PRIZE
fighting game.
Not part of a dog
fighting blood bath
that ends in death. But essentially
part of what it is that keeps
the world apart from itself. Take
a bath, throw in copper pennies
to see where they flow towards.

I know you’re afraid one of them might try
to attach itself to your eye,
but that doesn’t mean you’re dead
already. It means it is trying to make you
sing opera or howl
at the drain. Watch the lacerated
hair fly into symbiosis. Watch the hair
coming from her lovely wart
begin performing tattoos on
unsuspecting passersby.

The tattoos might grow
into tuberoses, rampions exploding
out the hair of a new Rapunzel
who will never be stuck in a tower.
The trapdoor shower shows us all
a discernible way home,
strand by strand, flying up
to the new hybrid magpie nest.
Even if you’re missing an eye,
all of the empty holes can be named
and with each name,
some unexpected
reverence renewed.

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Continue reading “Never Be Stuck” – Poetry by j/j hastain & Juliet Cook

“Satan’s Gravy” – Poetry by A.S. Coomer & Juliet Cook

Hell - Herrad of Landsberg, circa 1170
Hell – Herrad of Landsberg, circa 1170

Cheerleaders, screeching butterflies, and other assorted oddities inhabit “Satan’s Gravy,”  a spectacularly unique vision of hell by A.S. Coomer & Juliet Cook, straight out of our extra-weird Summer 2016 issue.

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1.

I FELT HIM STARING AT ME FIRST,
then he bumped his scuffed cafeteria tray into mine.
The demon slopping out potatoes snickered
and drowned everything in an extra ladleful
of the Devil’s own gravy, a torture recent arrivals
and longtimers alike get to experience
–in all nine circles of Hell–on Thursdays.
Each and every Thursday. Forever.

At first I was turned on by how direct he was,
but then I needed insect repellent.
Me and my tendency to turn people into piss ants
and bee sting their tiny heads by telling them
all they seem to do is buzz in front of the tube
that someone else created,
as if they’ve lost all desire
to create their own shape.

He puppydogged me
all the way to the corner where I always sit.
There’s a nice little peephole and sometimes
you can just make out
the slow freefall of a newbie. I think of myself
as something akin to the welcome mat,
(telepathically) sending out:
Welcome to Hell
at the flaming, discombobulated wretches
as they fall.

“Get lost,” I told him.
“Already am,” he smiled back
then started in on the potatoes.
Satan’s gravy snaked out of the corner of his lips.
We ate in silence. Nobody new fell so I let him stay. Continue reading “Satan’s Gravy” – Poetry by A.S. Coomer & Juliet Cook

“My Wet” – Poetry by Adam Tedesco & Juliet Cook

Two Rats - Vincent van Gogh, 1884
Two Rats – Vincent van Gogh, 1884

The fantastically feral “My Wet” is one of two twisted poems by Adam Tedesco & Juliet Cook in our Fall 2015 issue.

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SEWER RATS ARE ON THE DECLINE
Living a rough life on the ranch
In the boots of wannabes
They wait for a god to ask them to kill

The incense is lit
Pressure cooker
Plugged into my brain
Snapped into a trap

We smoke ropes of dead rat
Watch mutilation through stolen telescopes
Get high on their killing
Wet ourselves in a blood embrace

The rat that hears the voice
Appears no different
Walks a simple path
Like submission, a gift

Whether he ends it or I end it
I’m the one who stops existing

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IMGP3324ADAM TEDESCO has worked as a shipbuilder, a meditation instructor, and cultural critic for the now disbanded Maoist Internationalist Movement. He conducts the ConversexInverse interview series and analyzes dreams for the online literary journal Drunk In A Midnight Choir. His recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in Similar:Peaks::, pioneertown, FunhouseCosmonauts Avenue, and elsewhere.

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IMG_1359 - Copy (2)JULIET  COOK is a grotesque glitter witch medusa hybrid brimming with black, grey, silver, purple, & red explosions. Her poetry has appeared in Ghost Proposal, H_NGM_N, ILK, and Menacing Hedge. She is the author of more than 13 poetry chapbooks, including POISONOUS BEAUTYSKULL LOLLIPOP (Grey Book Press, 2013), RED DEMOLITION (Shirt Pocket Press, 2014) and a collaboration with Robert Cole, MUTANT NEURON CODEX SWARM (Hyacinth Girl Press, 2015). A collaborative chapbook with j/j hastain, Dive Back Down, is forthcoming from Dancing Girl Press. Her first full-length poetry book was Horrific Confection (BlazeVOX, 2008). Her second, Malformed Confetti, is forthcoming from Crisis Chronicles Press. www.JulietCook.weebly.com.

“Me” – Poetry by Adam Tedesco & Juliet Cook

By Sebastian Ritter (Rise0011) (Own work) [CC BY-SA 2.5], via Wikimedia Commons
Photo by Sebastian Ritter (Rise0011) (Own work) [CC BY-SA 2.5], via Wikimedia Commons

“Me” is one of two beautiful dark twisted poems in our Fall 2015 issue that were co-written by Adam Tedesco & Juliet Cook

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1.

MY DIRTY HAIRBALLS
and feline creatures
doused in cheap champagne

After the party
the after party
was down in the canyon
of flattened emotion
of all the acts of disassociation
holed up in this trailer
doused in solvent

I try to stay quiet
as I strike the match
as if that will cover up
the triumph of our will

2.

Nobody can reach down
in this mess
Nobody can fix it

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IMGP3324ADAM TEDESCO has worked as a shipbuilder, a meditation instructor, and cultural critic for the now disbanded Maoist Internationalist Movement. He conducts the ConversexInverse interview series and analyzes dreams for the online literary journal Drunk In A Midnight Choir. His recent work has appeared or is forthcoming inSimilar:Peaks::, pioneertown, FunhouseCosmonauts Avenue, and elsewhere.

IMG_1359 - Copy (2)JULIET  COOK is a grotesque glitter witch medusa hybrid brimming with black, grey, silver, purple, & red explosions. Her poetry has appeared in Ghost Proposal, H_NGM_N, ILK, and Menacing Hedge. She is the author of more than 13 poetry chapbooks, including POISONOUS BEAUTYSKULL LOLLIPOP (Grey Book Press, 2013), RED DEMOLITION (Shirt Pocket Press, 2014) and a collaboration with Robert Cole, MUTANT NEURON CODEX SWARM (Hyacinth Girl Press, 2015). A collaborative chapbook with j/j hastain, Dive Back Down, is forthcoming from Dancing Girl Press. Her first full-length poetry book was Horrific Confection (BlazeVOX, 2008). Her second, Malformed Confetti, is forthcoming from Crisis Chronicles Press.www.JulietCook.weebly.com.

“Late Night Dance Moves” – Poetry by Juliet Cook

Elvis - Andy Warhol, circa 1963
Elvis – Andy Warhol, circa 1963

“Late Night Dance Moves” is one of two bizarre & spooky poems by Juliet Cook in our Spring 2015 issue.

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SOMETHING SHAPED LIKE A CONJOINED TWIN ELVIS
is floating above my bed. Think of those hips
linked into two sets with two different dance moves.
I’m not going to take sides. I’ll dance with the right side
and the left side, but first I must be transported up
to the ceiling so I’m not on the bottom again.

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IMG_1359 - Copy (2)JULIET COOK‘s poetry has appeared in many literary publications, including Arsenic Lobster,Diode, ILK, and Menacing Hedge.  She is the author of more than thirteen chapbooks, including POISONOUS BEAUTYSKULL LOLLIPOP (Grey Book Press, 2013), RED DEMOLITION (Shirt Pocket Press, 2014), a collaborative chapbook with Robert Cole, MUTANT NEURON CODEX SWARM (Hyacinth Girl Press, 2015) and a collaborative chapbook with j/j hastain, Dive Back Down (forthcoming from Dancing Girl Press in 2015). Find out more at www.JulietCook.weebly.com.

“What If I Can’t Make Myself Wake Up?” – Poetry by Juliet Cook

Ghost of a Flea - William Blake, 1820
Ghost of a Flea – William Blake, 1820

Juliet Cook‘s poem “What If I Can’t Make Myself Wake Up?” is a lucid nightmare from the depths of our Spring 2015 issue.

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  1. MY GRANDPA CALLED ME. I didn’t hear anyone on the phone at first, but part of me knew it was him, even though he never calls me. The he started to speak in a soft and powerless voice, telling me that he was dying.
  1. My ex-husband and I got together. We seemed to be getting along well, feeling good about each other, and having fun. We started kissing. Almost as soon as I lay down on his bed, he turned exceedingly strong and purposely overpowered me. Holding me down, he whispered into my ear that he was going to crush me, make me bleed inside, slowly but surely kill me.
  1. Almost immediately after orgasm, I started itching all over the place, like my insides had been invaded by a huge batch of fleas. A whole load shot out of another sticky scumbag.
  1. I felt like I was jerking around and screaming, “oh my god oh my god oh my god!”. I was trying to scream out loud, but it was barely emerging as a tiny hiss. I was trying to scream loud enough so that someone else could hear me and help me wake up. At some point my brain realized that I was all by myself. There is nobody here to help me.
  1. I finally managed to climb myself out of bed, even though I still felt uncertain about whether or not I was really awake. The insides of my body were making weird little clicking sounds. From the inside, I heard something dripping down the walls.

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IMG_1359 - Copy (2)JULIET COOK‘s poetry has appeared in many literary publications, including Arsenic LobsterDiode, ILK, and Menacing Hedge.  She is the author of more than thirteen chapbooks, including POISONOUS BEAUTYSKULL LOLLIPOP (Grey Book Press, 2013), RED DEMOLITION (Shirt Pocket Press, 2014), a collaborative chapbook with Robert Cole, MUTANT NEURON CODEX SWARM (Hyacinth Girl Press, 2015) and a collaborative chapbook with j/j hastain, Dive Back Down (Dancing Girl Press in 2015). Find out more at www.JulietCook.weebly.com.