Blink|Ink

Featured Artist: Alexander Jorgenson

LynnAlexander — Sat, 31 Jul 2010 04:18:31 +0000

We are grateful to Alexander Jorgenson, the latest featured artist here at Blink-Ink, for allowing us to share his work. Jorgenson is a visual poet, meaning he combines elements of art and writing in his creative work. Please view Alexander Jorgenson’s page here.

You can also check out an article about his work at Full Of Crow’s ARTERIALIZE here.

Blink Ink #3 Is Out!

LynnAlexander — Wed, 23 Jun 2010 00:34:48 +0000

Nothing Is Sacred

LynnAlexander — Fri, 11 Jun 2010 14:59:45 +0000

The phone rang in the basement of the hospital.

“We’ll have two for you by 6pm . . . save a male left arm and a right foot. Someone will arrive at 8pm, you know what to do. The money is under the body.”

Jeanette Cheezum

My Wife, the Harbinger of the Apocalypse

LynnAlexander — Fri, 11 Jun 2010 14:41:00 +0000

She grabbed some green bananas. “There are seven, the seven shall ripen.”

I laughed, “Sounds biblical.”

“You’ll see,” she seethed.

And so I did when their skins turned red and seven banana-sized angels burst forth, summoning clouds of tiny locusts that flew over rivers of blood pouring off our kitchen-counter. Now Sinners and Saints alike beg my wife for mercy; I just want her to make the angels clean our kitchen.

Eric Sentell

An Old Friend

LynnAlexander — Fri, 11 Jun 2010 14:38:43 +0000

Caleb stands at the end of the wharf knowing he’ll never be cured, his immune system too weak to repel the disease’s progression. He inhales as deeply as his lungs allow, turns, and shuffles toward home. This place has rejuvenated him many times in the past. It won’t be where he dies.

Jim Harrington

The Boy Who Loved Freddie Olms

LynnAlexander — Fri, 04 Jun 2010 12:18:07 +0000

John loved lost writer Freddie Olms. His last novel was cursed….The library had it. Freddie Olms is the main character. Killed by John’s aunts. Writer entombed in house. Awakens. Breaks through wall. Clambers up stairs. Finds boy. John read.

Crash. Stairs creak.. Bedroom door… opens.

Michael S. Collins

Night Flowers

LynnAlexander — Thu, 03 Jun 2010 12:16:11 +0000

Sometimes he thinks it was only a memory. There is nothing of her left- at least, nothing he can hold on to. Yesterday, he thought he caught the faint smell of her favorite perfume. But it was only the scent of early spring, wafting in through the open window. And still she is gone.

Ashley Vemuri

Furballs

LynnAlexander — Wed, 02 Jun 2010 12:05:56 +0000

He carried a pile to the car. She followed, carried his laundry bag. You don’t have to, she said. He crammed his shit into the overstuffed trunk. The cat on the lawn cacked on a furball. He said I’m not living with that asshole. She winced. Can I come live with you, she joked. The postman waved from the curb.

Robert Vaughan

Immaculate Confection

LynnAlexander — Tue, 01 Jun 2010 11:49:18 +0000

The sacrifice of the marshmallow went without a peep of protest from the chocolate lobby – the transsubstantiation of the marzipan at equinox had caused such dissension among them ; even now, there are adherents to choc-chip versus mint versus glazed fruits…faith is never ridiculous, just a little strange and sweet.

Ivan Rehorek

My Enemy

LynnAlexander — Sat, 29 May 2010 12:13:56 +0000

I stand here staring down at you, my eyes and brain aching. You stare back at me unblinking, full of contempt at my ineptness. I want so much to pull the plug on your life, to reverse your interpretation of me, but I need you…to finish the story.

David Barber