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“Ghost” by Kelly Peacock The ghost is sitting there, heavy, on the edge of the mattress, his body shifting with his eyes, his palms closing but close to me, my uncoiled fingers, reaching. He touches me. Déjà vu: he loves me— hardly— *** “Kerosene Girl in Black & White” by Danny De Maio Onlookers, come far and wide, feel as though they’ve been duped into being extras on the set of a B-flick that might someday earn its right as a cult film, and no one could blame them for thinking as much judging from the bare industrial room that is lightless aside from the eerily warm glow of a projector filling the stage wall with black and white cue card images that tease cryptic messages like “OUR SHOW IS YOUR SHOW” and “OUR PROPHET IN BLACK & WHITE” that leave the spectators wondering just what it is that they’ll get for their five bucks. From the stage-right shadows materializes a woman in knee-high leather boots and a black skirt that is mostly hidden by a matching overcoat. Her eyes are obscured by a swath of hair that may or may not be midnight black as well, as the emissions from the projector dye everything they touch either black or white. The few murmurs from the crowd that remains are extinguished when the woman approaches the microphone standing in the middle of the stage and lights a cigarette into it so that the clink of the metallic lighter igniting ricochets around the room. “It’s like when you drip gasoline on your shoe,” she begins, “and the scent wafts up to you like a ghost of kinetic energy. Or maybe it’s more like the deep breath you take the moment after avoiding a collision with an oncoming car.” The crowd looks at one another as she takes a calm drag from the cigarette. A man looks disapprovingly at his wife who is holding their young son. Two teenagers giggle for a moment in the corner. The unseen projectionist squeezes the aperture of light so that it narrows on the woman and simultaneously leaves the rest of the room in darkness. “Or it could be like nervous laughter while anticipating a response from the one you love.” She begins to keep time with one boot to an inaudible beat and the people in the first two rows are able to see her eyes roll back in her head. The rhythm she has worked up is suddenly paired with a thumping, pounding sound at the entrance of the room. All the spectators with children and most of the teenagers move towards the exit. 14

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Pour Vida Zine Autumn 2018 (6.1)  

Now that the summer heat has boiled over (to a certain degree in California at least), we're gearing up for a cooler autumn and a toasty win...

Pour Vida Zine Autumn 2018 (6.1)  

Now that the summer heat has boiled over (to a certain degree in California at least), we're gearing up for a cooler autumn and a toasty win...

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