#reality hands

[bostonpoetryslam]

I am always a tourist pretending I’m not / I am always a gypsy moth throwing herself / at the neon / whoring myself out to the cheapest glow / I’m saying / look at me / I’m calloused and I hardly ever smile so / I think this is my home

Rebecca Kokitus, “Sweet Rancid,” published in Reality Hands

[bostonpoetryslam]

before surgery, i found a body pre-patchwork that look[ed] like mine does[did] and hung their post-op scar across my phone screen like look here listen kid you’re going to come out from under the knife fine i know it feels impossible but i swear you’re gonna be even softer

Linette Reeman, “Post Top Surgery, The Not-Girl Nightmares Of Prosthetic Breasts,” published in Reality Hands

[bostonpoetryslam]

In the 1987 film Project X the chimpanzees’ vocalizations were edited out in favor of actors’.  The director, Jonathan Kaplan, thought this would make them more sympathetic. As time passes the film will begin to strike us as quainter or more prescient, or it will be      almost entirely forgotten.

Cal Freeman, “A Brief Essay on Empathy,” published in Reality Hands

[bostonpoetryslam]

Without my noticing romance became more practical Language yawned at intention If I could I would trade the day in for a higher thread count one where finally I’m in the zone

Sarah Jean Grimm, “I Call Out Sick From Paying Attention,” published in Reality Hands

[ericwallgren]

ohshitwaddup

[blankstickynotes]

Reality Hands Interview

In which I talked way too much about writing and the poem they published. You can read it here.

[bostonpoetryslam]

I have put my body inside my body, portioned out the sections that have grown too big, too abstract to fill the empty spaces properly. I have emptied out my self and been left with less than before, been left with only this mass, this space dwindling, growing smaller, growing lost.

Joyce Chong, “how to exacerbate the mundane,” published in Reality Hands

[beaboutitpress]

Reality Hands released its ninth issue today (www.realityhands.com), provided lush textual encounters for readers by narrowly escaping crippling angst and dread and despair. The zine sacrificed its old mobil-unfriendly site, used its liquid-crystal blood to summon the most incalculable, incalculable writers:

ctch bsnss jeremy p. bushnell jamie mortara carmen brady shane jesse christmass penny goring james leaf luis neer heath ison s kay steve anwyll joyce chong timmy reed