Punk Monk Press/Magazine

What’s a metaphor for making beautiful   things which can’t everyone see   that’s beautiful and also   everything that’s beautifully transpired     and sometimes it seems there’s so much time   and at others just like look up at Saturn   referring to you putting your bare feet   into the sand the moment the elevator rattles     and wakes you so what if I were actually free   and gave it all up and retired I know   retired from what and no one was screaming   or demanding something I don’t have to give     and I were somewhere where you become   hyperbolic in the face of a crumbling   constitution and a dissolving symbolic and say   I’m just a beatnik, I’ve always been a beatnik.   -- Matthew Freeman

Mange. The latest treatments, pills, shampoos. That’s what this article is about. On the next page. In this dog magazine. Okay, okay. I confess. I watch a lot of dog videos. On YouTube. I do. And I’ve seen those mange videos. Dogs rescued from the street. Their skin. Gray as granite with mange. Poor hairless doggies. So sad. So painful. Not my favorite videos. Too, too sad. But transformation videos? Love them! Can’t get enough of them. Neglected dogs covered in mats. Dogs that look like haystacks with paws. No eyes. No nose. No face. No kidding. Just moving mounds of fur. Ropes of hairy mats trailing behind them. Aliens on earth. That’s what they look like. But then, but then. Someone rescues them. Takes them to a groomer. And they’re transformed. Free to be the beautiful dogs they were meant to be. This. This I can relate to. Because, because. I was transformed. Ten years ago. Not that I had mange. Or tons of mats. (Horrors!) But I had hair. And lots of it. Long, silky, waist-length ...

Dear Gen X, Did You Know All Rainwater is now Unfit for Human Consumption?   Generation Z are doomed to be the first generation of Americans who will grow up with a lower standard of living than their parents enjoyed…The party’s over, folks.   --Hunter S. Thompson, 2001     I’m glad you had non-stick frypans   I’m glad you had Aqua Net and aerosol cans and abortion access    white pleather couches, popcorn ceilings, vinyl flooring   I’m glad you had what you wanted               I understand wanting   I understand that you watched your parents get Woodstock, free college, and picket fences   I understand that you felt owed something               so you took    Tell me again about your first (or second, or third, or fourth) car              ...

Hey, all!  I'm so excited to officially announce the first three chapbook titles acquired by Punk Monk Press, release dates TBA:  Children of Fire by Irena Praitis  When You Know by Lacey Cohen  Backpack by Kit E Lascher  Each of these works possesses a daring voice and beautiful message, emulating the Punk Monk ethos in their own unique way. I am inspired by each of these authors and honoured that they chose to submit something to my humble corner of the publishing world. I am learning every step of the way and deeply appreciate their continued patience, flexibility, and openness.  When available, titles will be able to be purchased from our store, and possibly on Amazon if we decide to go that route. Primary dissemination will be via local zine fares and markets in Canada. If any reviewer/book blogger is interested in an ARC, please contact the editor (me) via my personal website cehoffman.net!  Punk Monk Press will remain closed to new chapbook subm...

She faces the buttons. Going up, Floor 34.                                   The uniform hat perches on her slick and gleaming bun: Regulation size. Regulation lipstick, regulation gloves, regulation heels (they measure them in the morning).   If you ask how often A hand brushed against the back of her skirt (regulation length) Or fingers lingered on her waist (regulation width) She’d hide her teeth with her hand cock her head to the side    If she hears another joke about pressing her buttons Or how the business is going (It has its ups and downs) her shoulders will shake  With the laughter that bounces off four glass walls   But at night, after a bath she shares with three generations In a cramped apartment a train ride away Where they turn off the lights to save the yen   Her fingers grip the...

Thank my brother who told my mom that even though he is different now we have to learn to love him this way thank my friend who left a book about recognizing the signs of PTSD on the dashboard of my car thank my daughter who when I ask what she remembers about the time I was in Afghanistan says I only remember how much I missed you thank my wife who stayed even when I tried to drive her away when I tried to set fire to anyone who wanted to say they understand thank everyone thank anyone but me thank all the people who lived through this long march I am still making all the way back to a place I still can’t call home. --Matthew Borczon

Half of these people  think I’m better off dead  on the side of the road like a dog. But the negro in me won’t give up. We are always giving white people what they want. I think I should live forever  just to spite them. I never feel like I’m going to make it to the next year but then I do. I am always stronger than I think I am. / I am always as strong as they think I am. Which is a problem. I don’t want them to think they can just do anything to me.  --Mia Maisha