Category Archives: Anniversay

DMC TWO YEAR ANNIVERSARY IS TODAY

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We’ve had a blast.

Thank you for being a part of two great years. 

Here’s to many more.

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#1 – On Joy

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On February 6, DMC celebrates its TWO-YEAR ANNIVERSARY! Holy mackerel, time flies. It’s been a great year. We’ve published hundreds of pieces this year that we feel proud and honored to share, and we also put out our first book! This week we will be counting down the Top Ten Most Read posts from our second year of existence, and will present #2 and #1 on Saturday, February 6. Thanks for being part of a wild and excellent two years.

 

I.

What I most remember about Columbus, Ohio on the Saturday night of George Zimmerman’s acquittal is the heat. Though it was only mid-summer, a late-summer’s blaze set itself on the city. The kind that sits on top of your skin, hungry and unshakeable. It was the kind of day where everyone sits inside next to an air conditioner, or sweats through an old t-shirt walking the three blocks to the store, like I did, right before a friend texted me “He’s not guilty. He’s free.”

My then-girlfriend, Laura, was back home, visiting her family in the small Ohio town where she was raised. About a month earlier, I managed to fly across the country and back in 24 hours to pick up an engagement ring without her knowing about it (a trick that involved more airport running than I will likely ever have to do again in my life). I spent most of my time on the day of Zimmerman’s acquittal inside of our tiny attic apartment, wrestling with a number of anxieties about putting the ring to its proper use (anxieties that I continued to wrestle with until I finally did the deed early in October of that year, much to the relief of family and friends). I had been invited to a game of hide and seek that night in the park down the street from my house. Some revelry after a day of oppressive heat, some praise at the feet of a cool night. After I returned from the store and processed the text about the verdict, I remember sitting under a blanket in the dark, right up against the loud and rattling window air conditioner, shivering. In debating whether or not I should go out to the park and try to find a release with people I cared deeply for, I considered this idea of a black male running into the night. How we seemed to be consistent only in the art of disappearance. How, even in joy, running into a cool and needed darkness could end in burial. My name on a stone next to the stone with my mother’s name on it. The unused ring, still in a drawer. The woman I hoped to spend my life with, re-learning a life without me in it, and then carrying on, as we all do. I considered my father, forced to convince a nation that mine was a life worth being kept. And I wept, loudly and angrily. I stared at my hands, pushed them into the shadows of our living room, and watched them vanish.

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#2 – Three Musical Poems – Anis Mojgani

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On February 6, DMC celebrates its TWO-YEAR ANNIVERSARY! Holy mackerel, time flies. It’s been a great year. We’ve published hundreds of pieces this year that we feel proud and honored to share, and we also put out our first book! This week we will be counting down the Top Ten Most Read posts from our second year of existence, and will present #2 and #1 on Saturday, February 6. Thanks for being part of a wild and excellent two years.

 

I pretty much am always listening to music when I write. It stirs and softens. More I guess it lulls whatever in me that I want to be made known of to step closer, to come outside and smell more of the fragrance that is wafting in towards it. Very often what will happen is that once I find myself in a groove, whatever song it is that has clicked me into place, that has enticed the beast out into the night garden, I feel I have to keep playing it in order to keep it there. So, a song finishes and I play it again. And again. And again. Sometimes I will listen to that same song for an hour. Strangely, it is rare for me to just put the song on repeat, or at least not for the first 20 listens. Like I don’t want to commit to just this one sound, or like there needs to be this pause of brief reawakening “oh. that sweet sound is finished..could we listen to it once more?”

The three pieces here all sprung from situations like this, where I just kept cycling through the same piece of music. All three are from different years––2011, 2013, & 2015––and three very different periods of life I was going through. Much of the art I make, comes to fruition by making something, tearing that something up and making something truer out of the pieces. There’s something I love about creating an environment that pushes my brain to think differently, to make it so that it has to think creatively about what surrounds it. This aspect of creation, deconstruction, reconstruction, deconstruction, reconstruction, repeat, helps enable and perpetuate this for me. And what I like about not just putting a song on repeat but having to click it back to the start every time it finishes is that it kind of contributes to the above. It doesn’t lull me down the river, it makes me get back out at the same place downstream, head back to where I jumped in and repeat, mirroring the repetition of the re-/de-/reconstruction aspect of my process.

And oddly enough I think that it also helps with bringing myself closer to the truth of the things inside of me I’m trying to understand or get out of my dark and into my light. That it’s a process of trimming off as much fat as possible, or rather getting it boiled down to the most of its essence. Which enables the work (I hope) to really connect with my self, while also being able to walk around in a shape very far removed from my life, thus becoming more connective with other (I hope more). The music I listen to assists with this. As if that which is in me is naked, is more than naked, is naked of skin and body, and is only vaguely of color. And tries on different songs to see what is fitting the shape of its shadow, and when it finds one that fits right, or well enough, it tries it on, walks around in it, learns what it means to have bones and eyelids. And the shape and story of the song works its way into whatever it is I’m writing and becomes something that I would not have necessarily been able to explore or discover just on my own.

 

Second Person. Ana ana ana ana nashki oti besof haolam/Please please please please kiss me at the end of the world

2015

“Odisea” – Vaadat Charigim

It was a different life. she left you for someone with a motorcycle. and you locked yourself in a hotel room in another country. to drink a new life into your heart. when you woke up in another body you hopped a plane for the soot and leaves of the middle east. carried only a change of clothes on your back. in tel aviv you bought a scooter from a boy that looked like your brother. drove through the city. asked where to find a bar that played rock n roll music. borrowed someone’s guitar and played onstage. screaming into the loud hum of the lights you kicked a bottle. took one of its shards and cut a line across your forehead. the audience lapped it up. a girl doing a deborah harry impersonation licked the blood from your face. in the alley outside she pushed her tongue across your teeth and you reached under her skirt put your fingers inside her. the two of you smashed your bodies against each other like two bricks trying to break themselves. climbed out of the cracks between the buildings. sat on her rooftop. Continue reading


#3 – While Watching The Baltimore Protests On Television, Poets On The Internet Argue Over Another Article Declaring “Poetry Is Dead”

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On February 6, DMC celebrates its TWO-YEAR ANNIVERSARY! Holy mackerel, time flies. It’s been a great year. We’ve published hundreds of pieces this year that we feel proud and honored to share, and we also put out our first book! This week we will be counting down the Top Ten Most Read posts from our second year of existence, and will present #2 and #1 on Saturday, February 6. Thanks for being part of a wild and excellent two years.

 

I mean is it really dead did we watch its mother pull its limp husk from the mouth of a night that it walked into living are there one hundred black hands carrying its casket through the boulevard did it die in a city that no one could find until fire drank from the walls of its abandoned homes did broken glass rain onto the streets in its memory did people weep at the shatter did people cry for the convenience store and forget the corpse did the reek of rising gas drain the white from a child’s eyes did we stop speaking its Continue reading


#4 – Cryptozoology – Tony Brown

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On February 6, DMC celebrates its TWO-YEAR ANNIVERSARY! Holy mackerel, time flies. It’s been a great year. We’ve published hundreds of pieces this year that we feel proud and honored to share, and we also put out our first book! This week we will be counting down the Top Ten Most Read posts from our second year of existence, and will present #2 and #1 on Saturday, February 6. Thanks for being part of a wild and excellent two years.


So, there's this website where you click to spin a wheel 
and it tells you how to make a life decision 
based on you doing what a unicorn would do
if a unicorn was in the same situation you're facing.
I spun the wheel this morning 
and it said I should 
"whinny and rear." 
Well, I do this all the time so it didn't seem to be a huge stretch. 
I was glad I was not advised to nuzzle a newborn or frolic in a meadow.
I was hoping that I'd be told to impale evil things 
but I confess I'm not really in shape for that.
(Good call, wheel.) Continue reading

#5 – A Bad Weekend in Three Parts

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On February 6, DMC celebrates its TWO-YEAR ANNIVERSARY! 
Holy mackerel, time flies. It’s been a great year. We’ve 
published hundreds of pieces this year that we feel proud 
and honored to share, and we also put out our first book! 
This week we will be counting down the Top Ten Most Read 
posts from our second year of existence, and will present 
#2 and #1 on Saturday, February 6. Thanks for being part 
of a wild and excellent two years. 


One

I open up my body, whole and spit-shined eager
and inside there is only a mouth. The mouth says 
You are not an easy person to love.
Curious, I reach into this mouth
and pull out the tongue.

I make the tongue say it again, and again.
You are not an easy person…
You are not an easy person to…
And it’s so silly looking. 
This little flip-flopping thing 
in the palm of my hand.

I show it to everyone. My friends.
The guy at 7-11. On the morning you leave
I hold it right up to your face.
So close you practically choke on it.
So close that it practically 
becomes your tongue.
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#6 – Five Poems From Notes on the End of the World

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On February 6, DMC celebrates its TWO-YEAR ANNIVERSARY! Holy mackerel, 
time flies. It’s been a great year. We’ve published hundreds of pieces this year 
that we feel proud and honored to share, and we also put out our first book! This 
week we will be counting down the Top Ten Most Read posts from our second year of 
existence, and will present #2 and #1 on Saturday, February 6. Thanks for being 
part of a wild and excellent two years.


DAY 6

It is no dream to live in a house
with blown out windows and molting snakes.

Any child’s drawing would tell you so: 
the driveway, the garden, the smoking chimney.

I sleep with a pistol between my legs so often 
that any man would be a soft nuisance.  

This quiet is the quiet of watching a living thing
die, when you hit yourself for having believed the heart 
could ever resemble a red bird.  

I would give up all of my memories of trains
if one passed through the foothills as I watched.

All to say, there is enough emptiness to be buried
wherever the weathervane stops.  
There is enough emptiness to feel holy.  

At night, the wind upsets the shutters, the shingles.
And although I knew a bucket of morphine 
and a glass of scotch would kill it, 
I killed it. 

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#7 – Where The Shivers Won’t Find You, Or: How St. Vincent Made it OK For Me to Be OK – Dalton Day

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On February 6, DMC celebrates its TWO-YEAR ANNIVERSARY! Holy mackerel, time flies. It’s been a great year. We’ve published hundreds of pieces this year that we feel proud and honored to share, and we also put out our first book! This week we will be counting down the Top Ten Most Read posts from our second year of existence, and will present #2 and #1 on Saturday, February 6. Thanks for being part of a wild and excellent two years.

The mythology of a body: a vibration of light until a shape. A fear of being bitten by the air you depend on. I depend on. More often than not I love the vibrating. I glow as a result of it. I glow as a result of most things. Even fear. Even blood. Even weather. What is my shape? I run sometimes & the ground makes the most sense. What do you call the ground? I call it a place to get to another place. I call it a tooth with no mouth. I call it a body. Am I the only one in the only world? & so it is re-written when my hands change. & so I re-write it again.
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#8 – Grindr Troll #1 – Sean Patrick Mulroy

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On February 6, DMC celebrates its TWO-YEAR ANNIVERSARY! Holy mackerel, time flies. It’s been a great year. We’ve published hundreds of pieces this year that we feel proud and honored to share, and we also put out our first book! This week we will be counting down the Top Ten Most Read posts from our second year of existence, and will present #2 and #1 on Saturday, February 6. Thanks for being part of a wild and excellent two years.

We have long been fans of Sean’s Grindr trolling. It became pretty obvious after awhile of seeing him post these screen caps elsewhere, that we were sitting on a goldmine of literary genius and cyber-mischief. We finally asked him if we could have the honor of publishing them here for your reading pleasure, and to our great joy he obliged us. This the first installment. Enjoy! -ed
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#9 – Two Poems – Shira Erlichman

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On February 6, DMC celebrates its TWO-YEAR ANNIVERSARY! 
Holy mackerel, time flies. It's been a great year. We've published 
hundreds of pieces this year that we feel proud and honored to 
share, and we also put out our first book! This week we will be 
counting down the Top Ten Most Read posts from our second year of 
existence, and will present #2 and #1 on Saturday, February 6. 
Thanks for being part of a wild and excellent two years.



Stillness in Four Movements

The hospital ceiling. Neon hallway lights. My parents 
buzzed in through metal doors. Catatonia. My father’s 
hand. Urine in the sheets. A moth clings to the mesh 
of the window. A game of backgammon. My father claims 
he lets me win. When I lose I blame the pills & he laughs. 
Corridors of blue-socked body-draggers. Foggy everything. 
Guards that force a screaming teenager to the ground. 
A stone the Art Therapist lodges in my hand & tells me to love. 

The hospital 			           ceiling. Neon 			        hallway 
lights. My parents 		   buzzed in through 		        metal doors. 
        Catatonia. 				                 My father’s hand. 
Urine		in the sheets. A moth 		clings to the 
        mesh 			           of the window. A game 
of backgammon. My father claims 		      he lets me    win. 
When	   I lose 			              I blame 		            the pills & he 
        laughs. Corridors 		              of blue-	           socked body-	 Continue reading