Punk Monk Press/Magazine

One of C E Hoffman's stories from Sluts and Whores has a chance to become a short film, and we need your help to make it happen!  Donate here .  💕C

(Note: Submissions are now CLOSED.) Yep, we're jumping on that bandwagon.  VU is planning its third print edition, and what's a more relevant theme than Covid?  We want more than poems. We want stories (flash, please.)  We want anecdotes. We want your rants, your regrets, your hopes. Photos and drawings (black and white, please) are also awesome.  All previously published pieces on VU will be considered, but we'd love content that directly addresses the pandemic.  Submit, as always to: visceraluterus@gmail.com.  Title email: COVID SUBMISSION: (Your name)  As always, paste the submission in the body of the email.  Stay Creative!  C💕

the rich kids      in the Golden Isles           adhered to a preppy look                  they shared a certain uniform                        solid colour shirts with an alligator                   khaki shorts from Duck Head            and their shoes had to be      Sebago Docksides I wasn’t rich --J Archer Avary

do you forget you have a heart, too latch and leech your way into lives, into fake happiness into hearts and cling there. like a gnat resting on a brain gnawing and buzzing poking and prodding like a spider without a web but instead a laced framework of friends forged by falsehoods and wide grins. people love you. don’t they. especially when you dig your dirty nails into their chests so you can get to the meat, the muscle and bone and heart, so you can hoard it for yourself as they smile with their eyes and drip slippery accolades. hooray—I can’t feel a thing what do you feel? -- Ryan  C Johnson

  It's here! My book is officially available via Thurston Howl Publications.  For the trailer, I wanted to create a commentary on how words like "slut" and "whore" are used- particularly in the media I grew up on.  Proud to say I edited it myself. ☺️ Thanks for watching! 

Here I am  in my fantastic automobile  cruising down the highway  at eighty miles an hour  with blur on all sides,  nothingness behind  and a full moon on the horizon  that I'm headed straight for.   It's supposed to be 384,000 miles away.   The faster I go, the more I know better.   -- John Grey

In this vid I give you a sneak peak into one of the book party giveaways, and lift up some awesome folks. Check out my blogthoughts here!

your nephew said I was the cool one (ripped jeans)      it gave me a kind  of complex     nothing was the same    after that day at the zoo      an old  chimpanzee contemplated suicide in  the corner of his cage       how life    knows a multitude of ways to restrain you  I considered   myself                lost in the crowd        not answering my phone    nor trying to find you     I know  that’s not feasible I mean we were kids  pushing kids     blue by the aquarium    glass    big-eyed fish couldn’t notice us  if they tried   the big room shimmering  in the gray January light   we trapped --James Croal Jackson

And check out my blogthoughts here

  This body I have now Is the one I wanted in my 20s, The muscles on my arms, my stomach Defined, Promising the attractiveness I was so sure Would snare The love I craved. Here, at 53, this body Slower but more athletic, Stiffened, but more limber. At my age I’m told No tank tops, no sleeveless, No fitted anything. Age, designed to be One more shame, Of this body old enough To know old enough, finally, To love the love of itself, This mother loving a son, With no partner, no backup, No need   Beyond the need Of knowing herself. --Irena Praitis