The last time I saw you, we were wasted at The Starlight, eating from a bag of cherries we had stolen from the grocery on the corner that stayed open all night. Remember I bit into one so hard that my tooth cracked against the pit? You saw me spitting crimson chunks onto the motel … Continue reading THE STARLIGHT ON 2ND
Author: APOCALYPSE CONFIDENTIAL
LESSON Æ-45, CATEGORY: ON TRINITITE
Dust blows across the landscape, across the plastic folded tables arranged in neat rows, and settles into a thin layer over the constellations of semi-precious stones and fossils displayed for sale. They were dropped off at the nearest out-post and traveled here to gather souvenirs for the children. Their model was built to withstand the … Continue reading LESSON Æ-45, CATEGORY: ON TRINITITE
The trucks are placed just so, arranged like sigils, forming a portal through which Llewelyn Moss falls. The underworld is less a place and more a point of view, available only to the initiated who have eyes to see: an office building downtown with a missing floor; men speaking in hushed tones two booths down at the greasy spoon; a party of non-locals checking into a single-bedroom suite at the motel advertising “FREE HBO”. And Moss, as soon as he crosses that threshold in that bright Texas dark, is initiated. He is also cursed. The tragedy of his story is that no matter where he goes, as long as he draws breath, the people around him–loved ones, acquaintances, accomplices, bystanders–will die. “… fastened to a dying animal / It knows not what it is; and gather me / Into the artifice of eternity…”
No Country for Old Men -- Jacob Everett is the editor-in-chief and publisher of APOCALYPSE CONFIDENTIAL
REAL LOVE
I could tell that Mav had gotten himself a new GirlFren from the way he spoke to me on the phone, despite everything that had happened with the tabloid suicide and despite his flesh-and-blood girlfriend Tinka’s visible disdain for his collection. “Come over right now,” he said, and so I did, because although I didn’t … Continue reading REAL LOVE
“THE ARROW-PIERCED MAN…”
The arrow-pierced manBreathes throughHis eyes -- Josephine Capistrano is a writer in the United States. You can find her on Twitter and Blogger.
THE LOUVRE: AN IMMERSIVE EXPERIENCE
I really don’t know anything about the people I talk to every single day. But I know James is nice because he looks nice in his profile picture and one day he sent me a little GIF of a cartoon dinosaur that I thought was very cute. Often I pretend to talk to him. We … Continue reading THE LOUVRE: AN IMMERSIVE EXPERIENCE
DJINGO BOTTOM BELFREE
If Djingo Bottom Belfree could have one wish, it would be for the material to be able to live after the body has been decorticated. Because of this, he must always terminate the material before he begins the skin removal process. This is an act of love. Before he was aware of the nature of … Continue reading DJINGO BOTTOM BELFREE
A SPECIAL PRESENTATION: BLUE CHRISTMAS
“A sad tale’s best for winter. I have one/Of sprites and goblins,” declares the young Mamillius in The Winter’s Tale. For years in Victorian England, Christmastime was the season of ghostly tales, told against the warmth of the fire or by candlelight. Prior to electricity, winter was dark indeed, and seemed to promise sprites and goblins … Continue reading A SPECIAL PRESENTATION: BLUE CHRISTMAS
“YOUR HANDS ARE COLD WHEN YOU THINK OF CHRISTMAS”: ON BLAST OF SILENCE AND HOLIDAY NOIR
1. Blast of Silence is a film that seems to operate as a sort of death by one-thousand cuts executed by hands from two distinct bodies. One cutting hand is the tinsel glinting knife of the “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” flavor of holiday film. Fitting that a Christmas hurricane hit New York as director/writer/lead … Continue reading “YOUR HANDS ARE COLD WHEN YOU THINK OF CHRISTMAS”: ON BLAST OF SILENCE AND HOLIDAY NOIR
WILDES HEER
I always get sad in winter. I miss the snowy nights of my childhood and the celebrations that capped the year. I remember the first time my father let me sit beside him on our horse drawn carriage, my father dressed as Wodan, his coat already red and sticky; I remember the way he laughed … Continue reading WILDES HEER