Tisha Carter
“leaving 7 suns of cypress”
Mixed media
Response

Dickman Bold
By Kate Gilronan
Inspiration piece

We join our valiant hero kilovairs in the outer ring as he dauntlessly pursues galactic renegades. Dickman Bold, courageous conqueror of the cosmos, hastens through the asteroid field, closing in on his prey. Just as things look up for Bold, he is struck from his flank by a hurdling chunk of space refuge. Dickman Bold’s spacecraft plummets towards the lethal, jagged surface of space rock. Is this the end of Dickman Bold, galactic guru?

Firing up his retro-rockets, Bold’s spacecraft slows its lethal voyage. Conquering his mutinous controls Dickman rights the craft into its previous position. Drats! The outlaw scum have eluded Dickman Bold. But this is of little concern to our fearless fighter, for he knows that while evil-doers exist, they will always be pursued by the overwhelming forces of good and squashed like the proverbial insect.

About-facing his crumpling craft, Bold directs his route back to the earthly order from which he came. Once at the marshal space station on the third moon, Bold cold docks his impaired spacecraft. Expeditious repairs are pending, for the cosmic connoisseur’s next virtuous enterprise is in pursuit of the terrible Uckman Goo.

A lunar communication has called for Bold’s boundless bravery.

Dickman Bold, Help! The future of life as we know it lies in your hands! The villainous Uckman Goo has horrendously captured the entire Solar Committee and taken them to his evil-Mecca, planet Quaregon. Goo’s intentions are to use gelatal-goo cloning to replicate the committee with un-human goo and have his copied cronies elect him chancellor of the Solar Committee. This power would make Uckman Goo unstoppable! Dickman Bold, Space Marshal extraordinaire, the world is in your hands! Go forth, bold one, and good luck!

Putting aside the caustic conclusion of this crusade, Dickman Bold grabs his pember ray and makes for his spiffy spacecraft. Bold’s desperate gambit: to fearlessly fly undetected under Uckman Goo’s lunar radar and land just micromers outside of Goo’s fortress.  Plan set, our valiant hero blasts off for Uckman’s unknown. Once into deep space, Bold hits hyper-speed to hasten his journey.

The marble-size planet Quaregon is now visible, and Bold slows his enclosure.  The heroic hero careens through Quaregon’s rock rings swerving left, right, up, and down. The amazing Bold pilots around each pebbly projectile, through the rings and deep into the napalmic alien atmosphere. Oh no! A fiery flash of fatality-flare slices through the blackness before bold. Our hero is under attack… what now?! Is this the end?!  Stay tuned to see what happens to Dickman Bold, space Spartan of the universe!

Continuing where we last left off, our sporting spaceman was bearing down on the unkind Uckman Goo’s planet Quaregon and suddenly came under attack. Now we join Bold in a time of apprehension…

Each deadly death-beam threatens the safety of our hero. Taking fultrons from his rocket power and adding it to the diminishing shields, Bold adds security to his endangered vessel. With much grace and guts Bold is able to touch down on the toxic planet but lands too close to Uckman Goo’s sinful stronghold. This means Goo’s cohorts will be onto to Bold in no time flat. Adjusting his pember ray gun to molecularize, Dickman Bold, vegan vegetarian, leaves his trusty spacecraft and treks onwards with his mighty mission.

Upon the hour, Bold reaches the fortification and with immense caution continues on.  Our noble champion lurks in the shadows tuning in on each cry for help and proceeds towards the dark innards of the Goo’s dwelling. Suddenly, a slippery sentry spots Bolds! No fear, however, strikes through Dickman Bolds brave body; with lightening speed Bold removes his crushing cannon: “Eat potent pember death slime-ball!” Zap! The once formidable foe now lies as an oozing putrid puddle steaming with regret. Pushing onwards with a pursuing pace Dickman Bold, Martian madman, reaches Uckman Goo’s chamber door.

Entering with care, Bold is greeted by the undulating Uckman Goo.  “Bold, we’ve been expecting you.  Won’t you join us and watch as I take over the universe?”

“Goo you’re dreadful days are numbered.  Release the Solar Committee and I’ll proceed punishing you with greater mercy!”  Our hero, flying through the air, fires a blast at the gangrenous Goo. But no! The shot is ineffective; striking goo squarely on the thorax the shot has passed directly through the globular mess. Drats! A headshot must be the lethal load. Taking aim once more from behind close cover Dickman Bold launches another lethal lash, but Goo, surprisingly, is too quick. Dodging Bold’s audacious attempt, Goo slithers his slimy self to a control center and begins to lower the captive Solar Committee into a vat of venomous green goo.

Time is running out, Bold must save the committee. Relinquishing his hiding, Bold bolts forward and takes a stoic swing at Uckman, followed by another blow to the fatty flank. Each strike is moot; Bold’s fierce fists merely sink deeper and deeper into the globular Goo. Just as things look hopeless for our noble space-knight, Goo makes his mistake. As Bold beats away at Goo’s blubbery body, Goo is forced backwards towards the toxic tank of gelatal-goo behind. With one last blast, Uckman Goo flutters over the edge and into the heinous heap below. Uckman Goo lets out a deafening cry and then gradually gives way to death’s icy fingers.

Dickman Bold stopped the Solar Committee’s deadly deploy and frees them from their restraints. Behind the steady lead of our commanding conqueror, the Solar Committee is lead to safety and rendezvous with a transport for the liberated legislatures. Once more Dickman Bold, lunar legend, has saved the universe. Blasting off in his reliable rocket ship, Bold races away leaving the seven setting suns of Cyprus behind him.

——————————————

Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.

Tisha Carter
“Recognition”
Response

Full Stop
By Amy Souza
Inspiration piece

Everyone loves the ellipse. They hail the fucking em dash. Like nobody can live without him. Last year they made T-shirts featuring all of us white on black nice contrast and sold them to people who care too much about these things. Not all of them went. The shirts in the remainder bin feature me. I cannot pretend that did not hurt.

No need to panic or express too much emotion. With me you say it straight. That is a lot of power and also much responsibility. I have heard in frequency I am number two but I am the one you cannot live without. The others are all optional. Being top of the hierarchy should come with more perks. People do not often misuse me it is true. They also forget about me. They argue ad nauseam about the serial comma but not about me. No one disputes my necessity. I am a given. I do the bulk of the work. It is me you cannot live without. Yet I get no recognition.

Some of you attempt full thoughts without my help. Full books even. But still I am there. Readers insert me where they think I should go. You cannot live without me. Think about that for a minute. You cannot live without me.

I help you declare. Let you instruct or demand. Give you space to breathe when you need it. Force you to finish your thoughts. Even allow leeway for half thoughts. You invoke my name when you want to emphasize your point. I deserve more than a crappy T-shirt in return.

This article I read recently listed fourteen punctuation marks you never knew existed. Like the author had found Sasquatch or something. Stop the presses. You can guess what that article had in it to make it readable and comprehensible. Me. Little old me. I am always there.

My peers and I do not have a mutual admiration society. Question Mark never walks up to say good job. Exclamation Point never exclaims about me. They keep their distance. Sometimes I see them hanging out together along with Semicolon and the rest. Even Percent Sign gets invited to their functions. Percent Sign. No wonder I fucking drink.

My therapist says I use bravado and cynicism to mask a deep pain. The wound of feeling unloved and unwelcomed by my peer group and by you. She says vulnerability can save me. Wants me to let down my guard and admit how much it hurts to feel unwanted. She thinks I have a shot at the lecture circuit if I can release my bitterness. Wants me to invite my colleagues. My life is lemons. She wants lemonade.

I prefer a hermitage. A small gray house set far back from the street on a massive lot covered with weeds. The windows hidden by beastly unmaintained shrubbery. People will walk by and wonder what danger lurks within. What sadness. I will take their pity if they offer nothing else.

Everybody and their brother is on a journey it seems to find the life they were meant to live. Some of us are left with the ones we have to live. But nobody writes a bestseller about that. No one stages a play or tapes a monologue about dealing. I should not have to change the essentials of my being to fit the world. I work hard. I am good at what I do. Nor do I want to fit in. Not really. I want to be accepted for who I am.

My therapist calls this defeatist thinking and made me commit to positive action. We came up with this: I will go to that remainder bin, buy all of the shirts with my likeness on them, and give them away to strangers. Some I will send by mail. Others I will leave on doorways. I will create my own fan club. Soon I’ll encounter a woman wearing my shirt. We will pass each other in the frozen aisle, but she won’t recognize me. The guy behind her will, though, and it will catch him by surprise. “Hey wait a minute. That’s you!” he’ll say, pointing at the lady, then me, then back at the lady. He will smile at me, maybe pat me on the back. “Good job, Buddy,” he’ll say. “Good job.”

***

Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.