Because even we will admit that you can’t eat Cake all the time, please find the following sporadically-updated list of other publications that we have read and enjoyed…collect them all!
Pretend I Am There But Very Little A Story by Blake Butler
Under the intense lighting my teeth seemed huge and yellowed, like little tombstones, little walls. My teeth. My teeth. I missed them. I could hardly remember how they felt—though I could remember years of things I’d bitten, the endless brushing, my dentist’s eyes. I felt a tremor in my sternum, as if from sugar, my fingers trembling at the rope. No one was looking.
It Was Like My Trying to Have a Tender-Hearted Nature A Novella and Stories by Diane Williams
C.K. Dexter-Haven, the man I love, he’s been able to get his popularity numbers up there. I need to move on this very quickly, although I petted other men, not meant for me, nearly all day, and nearly all night long. Ruth Hussey puts up with so much from me. Ruth Hussey should not put up with so much.
Simply to get out of this busted tomb would require a dirty climb hand over hand. Throughout the surrounding dig, a graveyard nearly three thousand years old, ground-level itself remained unstable and sunken. Just to get back to the driveway cleared for the work crew, let alone the nearest paved road, would be like climbing a stairway in which several steps had gone missing.
Green Man and the Priests Fiction by Tom Whalen Drawings by Nick Wadley
A priest stands before a green man who is sitting on a green branch and gazing down at the priest with, possibly, an evil intent. That green may denote evil is well known—consider the trees in a valley, the grass on the hills. The green man’s mouth is red, that is his lips are red, as is his mouth-hole and his teeth.
An aerical creature brushed her cheek, dropped away to burze about crazed in the crazed dust of her feet. She cursed against God. Extending her arm, she encountered a rough-cast wall gone swale now, past midnight. She pressed her face against the wall, spread her tongue along the cool surface. Cinderstone, savoring of dust and slake-lime.
Drinking River Water Poems by Peter Joseph Gloviczki
Where is the swish / your fingers learned / on this tattered page?// There is nothing worthy / or worth being scrawled / inside electronic margins. // The gleam of the monitor / bastardizes morning light. / I will slide this page, now, // between your slight hands. / before you can say: Here, / let me read it.
Caketrain is a literary journal and press based in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Our interest is in bringing you, reader, the very best in contemporary creative writing, full stop. Our goals are for each issue of our journal to submerge you in a birthing tank for gelatinous language monsters, young masses of tentacular foci undulating as directed (in all, at once) by our eclectic stable of contributors; for each new book we publish to seduce and ensnare you, sometimes intangibly, always undeniably; and for you, reader, to be able to draw at least one passage from our banks that prods your mind with such precision and power that it feels as if it was written for your eyes alone. To wit and to whet, here is a snippet, a slight nip of our delicious lit mix:
