I TRY TO TELL MY BRAIN, you are an organ, luminous in your undulating layers, and like a comet, you are not a dirty snowball of space, you are made of dust (my trauma, my moments of star bones, love that combusted my life, on repeat, a recurring dream i continue to pirouette through), and dust, dirt can glitter if the light of the night hits it just right. like a comet, you have brought water to my most deserted, desiccated parts. i try to tell my brain, you are a little girl in her first chiffon, and when you spin, you set the earth aswirl in possibility: the softest wisconsin green grass of a dream, a field of lavender, spreading, and the blood-jet of sylvia or every poetess who preceded both your grace and your pain, or those slippers, ruby made into a dress, reminding us all that home is the heart we all seek. brain, often, you cry. often, you must find a moat to make certain no sailors make way through your lake of ache. brain, your skull is simply one big bone and bones break easily and often, brain, i do not always handle your structure, or even your waves of sea with all the love the ocean deserves, but here is my promise today, right now: i will hold you as my mother did when i pushed out her womb and was held at her breast. i will kiss your bloody body. i will be unafraid of the grime, the slimy guts. i try to tell my brain, you are an organ, but you are the life of all that makes me a life of my own, and i will claim you as my own. i will sob at the life of you now out of me and now all of you. still, i will do my best to protect you as a wolf does; come for its kin and it will kill. and the bones of the hunter, the mother will lick as clean and as pure as the moon.
A towering bonfire of gratitude to everyone who helped make our 19th reading such a toasty & crackling evening: Kwame, Valerie, William, Monica, and Gabriela for performing your flappy lits; Alibi Jones for your scintillating singing & photography; Pacific Standard for the ever-gracious hospitality; and all you lovely humans who came out on a Winter’s night to witness it all. Let’s do this again on February 21 for our 20th (!) Reading / Year Four Flight Party…
photos by Alibi Jones
Kwame Opoku-Duku reads some of his Ecclesiastes-inspired poetry
Valerie Hsiung shares some powerful excerpts from in her own words
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
Eric Baker gets the show rolling with a recital of his hilarious musings
Anthony Michael Morena reads some “B-Sides” from The Voyager Record
Mary Boo Anderson is a whirlwind of poetic performance art
We’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.
2016 was certainly a very weird, very dark section of time-space, so it’s no surprise that a lot of the weirder, darker pieces we published here this past year attracted so many eyeballs. The 10 most-viewed pieces on flapperhouse.com in 2016 were…
#10. “Doodlebug” by Emily Linstrom is a haunting tale about a family of monstrous immortals hiding out in “a part of London even London has no recollection of…” (From our Spring 2016 issue.)