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front


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front


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Pau was a man who was disappointed his wife had turned into a jar
— Patty Cottrell
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In Brian’s front yard, there’s a grassy indention that he likes to lie in, pretending he’s relaxing in a giant bowl. Someone will eat him. Someone will want him, take him away from here, and put him in their body where he will have a purpose. Pieces of him will have a purpose. He’ll be like any other organ, necessary, irreplaceable. The grass makes his back itch. He scratches at it, but it only itches more, gets worse. The skin breaks and he bleeds droplets freely, leaks blood.

 

He scratches more and his hands slip over the rising welts and he can’t get any traction. His shirt turns red. Eventually all his shirts are red. His parents don’t say anything to him about it. To each other they say, it’s tough, childhood these days, hard to be a kid these days, so easily embarrassed and everything’s so new. But to him they say nothing. They smile and tell him to have a good attitude. No one likes a sad Sally, they say.

— Brandi Wells, The first boy without a nose

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Show me the bodies of fast-food workers at night, taut and sparse, dancing in fluorescent light
— Richard Barnett
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Contributors

Editor

Oliver Zarandi

Design & Art Direction

Fran Marchesi

Published by

Funhouse Press, September 2015

Thankyou to Vic Lentaigne for photography of Issue 1