lucy tiven is editing the second issue of plain wrap press’s online quarterly, quarter, set to come out in december and would appreciate submissions by mid november. she can be emailed directly at email@example.com or through the plain wrap email, which goes through a bunch of tubes and wires and comes out in a spam folder checked ~every fortnight alongside things about winning the british lottery. so really, it’s all up to you
I am guest editing Plain Wrap Press’s Quarter 03. No theme, but I’m circulating a list of my favorite things, should they be of interest. Submissions are open until March 10. Looking for poetry, prose, and especially visual art. Send submissions to firstname.lastname@example.org.
I’m not on Facebook currently, so if you have questions hmu at email@example.com. Also, I gchat.
wander into a room. make the room a cloud or a ship or a valley. reach into the corners of the room and pull them together. the room becomes a cape. glide down the street with a cloud or a ship or a valley trailing behind you, the water or the steel or the moss sloughing off into your neighbors’ yards. make the street a river or a bridge or a book. push the water or the steel or the moss back into the street with your hands and feet. make your hands and feet into pumps or cranes or presses. make your mouth into a telephone. call your neighbors out into their yards to observe your progress. make their homes into tugboats. steer their homes down the river, under the bridge and into the book. cover the pages of the book with books and bridges and rivers and homes and tugboats and yards and neighbors and telephones and mouths and presses and cranes and pumps and feet and hands and streets and moss and steel and water and valleys and ships and clouds and capes and rooms. close the book. make the book into a room.
My new chapbook SLEEP will be available from Plain Wrap Press on May 28th. Don’t sleep on SLEEP. Reserve a little now for the cost of…like, whatever’s usually about $5.
“The identity-theft of Tomaloff’s masterfully mood-altering language renders a dozen or more modifications to the person looking back at you in the mirror. Is it you? Is it me? Each filmic sentence carries you, scene-for-scene, through the amnesia but it’ll be up to you to figure out what kind of person you are." —Michael J Seidlinger, author of My Pet Serial Killer
In which we hold hands &talk about things like magic &Lionel Richie
Plain Wrap was kind enough to ask me to answer some questions. We might have been drunk and there may have promises exchanged that neither of us will keep, but those cops will think twice about rousting us out of the park next time.
had a scarf around his neck, if Gaster came close enough to see. A
plain scarf wrapped tight enough around his neck to protect it and the
bottom of his skull. His grin was a little crooked and there was a
tattoo at the base of his radius, where the bone connected to hand.
sparked yellow once, glaring suddenly at someone around the fire before
another monster came up alongside him. Put a hand on his shoulder.
“Oh, come on, Grillby. I wasn’t really going to kill him. Take a joke.”
The scarf. The crooked little grin. How he talked to Grillby. The spark of yellow magic rather than purple. Goop felt his soul twist in on itself as familiarities kept on piling up.
He… he didn’t want this world. –
threatened monster cringed back while another patted him. “Don’t worry
about Gaster. He’s as neurotic as they come. Grillby’ll keep him in
line, won’t he?”
The monster grinned up at the Gaster, their eyebrows waggling.
“Talk about me like I’m a pet again and I’ll rip your tongue out,” Gaster said, face still amused but tone completely serious.
Grillby sighed deeply, as if this happened all too often for him.
Playing the “going out for food I can tolerate (basically any sub related shop or place that offers plain chicken wraps/tacos) for dinner or I’m trekking it to Walmart, where ill contemplate suicide for 45 minutes” game every fucking night because my family never bothers to ask me if I want anything for dinner.