New York Life: Streets

9. June 2018
By Mykel Board - Bio

Joey Ramone gets a place. Guy R. Brewer gets a whole boulevard. (Who the hell is Guy R. Brewer?) And Winnie and Nelson Mandela... between the two of them?

Something wrong there, don't you think?

© Mykel Board/ OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved. - THE New York Life SERIES -  "STREETS"

#OgFOMK #MykelBoard #CityStreets

You can READ me at: mykelsblog.blogspot.com




Indefinite Length, Part 8

7. Jun. 2018

A certain percentage of any population will always value privacy over convenience, even when not engaged in questionable pursuits. These citizens may be viewed with suspicion by those who haven't, as yet, any reason to hide the goings-on of their own lives from the wide electric eye of the world.

Charlee is having a difficult time locating the persons on the list. The search for Bobby Stillwell proves fruitful first.

Mr. Stillwell had lived in a one-story, three bedroom home with beige shingle siding and black shutters, identical to 14% of the other homes in Charlee's old neighborhood. What made it unique, and an object of much discussion amongst the resident children, were the two tall juniper trees on either side of his front door. The top third of each tree was dead and brown, so that from a distance they looked like two giant, half-peeled ears of corn.

They quite obstructed the view of the door. The rumor was that Mr. Stillwell was always there, watching the neighborhood kids from inside, and if he saw you were alone he would come out to talk to you, so everyone tried to find other places to play.

He was thin, with a thick head of dark brown hair, a nose and mouth that seemed too big for his face, and he smelt of socks and sugar cookies. There was no Mrs. Stillwell, and no relatives or pets or anyone else ever at his house. Charlee had seen inside, once.

You remember you'd been collecting gumballs, those spiky seed-pods that fell from the trees and made very good ammunition, with your neighbor Samuel, who was much younger than you, but there hadn't been anyone else around to play with. You'd lost sight of him and he didn't answer when you called his name, so you got on your bike and started looking. Turning a corner, your heart fell into your stomach when you saw Samuel's big wheel parked on the lawn of Mr. Stillwell's house. The gumballs he'd been collecting were in a pile on the front walk. Moving slowly, quietly, you approached the front door, expecting someone or something to jump out at you from behind the massive junipers. The heavy wooden door beyond the screened storm door was open, and you could hear giggling inside. Moving up to the screen, you put your hands around your face to peer inside.

There, on a red velvet couch marred with cigarette burns, sat Mr. Stillwell, and Samuel was across his knees, getting a playful spanking. The two were laughing, and Mr. Stillwell began to alternate between spanking and tickling, or spanking and...grabbing.

You gasped, and they looked up at you. Mr. Stillwell smiled and invited you in to join the game. Samuel was still giggling.

You got on your bike and rode as fast as you could to Samuel's house to tell his mom what you'd seen.

Mr. Stillwell moved out of the neighborhood soon after, but here he is now, on your computer screen. In his profile picture he is much, much older, with generations of grandkids standing around his wheelchair. There's a birthday cake on a table in front of him, with lit candles in the shape of the numbers "8" and "0" casting a sharp lens flare across the bottom third of the shot.

Name: Robert Stillwell. About: Retired. Lives in: ...the next town over.

You arrange to take a day off.

IN WHICH: Moving slowly, quietly, you approached the front door, expecting someone or something to jump out at you from behind the massive junipers.

© KIM BREEDING-MERCER / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved. - "Indefinite Length, Part 8"

#OgFOMK #KimBreedingMercer #IndefiniteLength #IDP #Fiction #streamofconsciousness



Universe Building

29th. May. 2018

Universe Building -- Kim Cormack
Universe Building -- Kim Cormack 

The Setting

Greetings OgFOMK Readers,

In my series universe, the three clans of immortals living on earth are sacrificial lambs for the greater good. I try to stay in only one character's mind, but in this case, a chapter from Triad's perspective seemed important. I thought I'd share this little snippet from my work in progress. 

Universe Building -- Kim Cormack
Universe Building -- Kim Cormack 

Universe Building -- Kim Cormack
Universe Building -- Kim Cormack 

A Snippet From Triad's Perspective

It wasn’t long before he began having perilous visions about the repercussions of her recently discovered paternity. Her status as part Guardian was going to come with some rather treacherous complications. She wasn’t doing well adapting to the demanding feeding schedule of a Conduit. Kayn didn’t appear to understand the ability at all, but she always seemed to be able to tap into Frost’s ability. This made sense because Chloe was a part of her and her twin had that same gift. Kayn had also figured out how to summon up orbs of energy to use as a weapon but she had no control over which kind she generated. The shit had hit the fan when she accidentally sent a bunch of demons back through the hall of souls. Mortality was not a reward bestowed upon evil things. There was no greater gift. Mortals were granted the divine privilege of living in blissful ignorance. Sometimes, Kevin wished he was back in his old life completely oblivious to the trials of the afterlife. It was just the two of them against the world. Everything had changed. All he could do is try to keep her one step ahead of the beings that wished to harm her.

     They ended up at the other continent’s pre Summit banquet together and after he’d gone out of his way to warn her, she tossed him over a balcony. A few days later, here he was again having psychic visions of her. She’d been caught by a rather devious sect of Abaddon and as he’d foreseen, they were aware that she could send demons back through the hall of souls. They had to silence the gossip. Every demonic entity would be coming after the promise of salvation. He had another vision and this time, they were trying to force her to put her ability into a weapon. Kevin was about to try to contact her clan when Seth appeared in all of his devious glory. Triad’s Guardian explained the situation, the rest of clan Ankh were too far away to intervene. The Dragons and their Handlers were being held by Abaddon in a farm less then thirty minutes away. They must have been weakened in some way. Taking Lexy was nearly impossible. Triad was the closest so they were being sent in. He wanted to believe Kayn would take herself out before she’d give Abaddon what they wanted but she’d been recklessly unhinged since the Testing. Kevin summoned up every last ounce of their connection to warn her of Abaddon’s true motives. They couldn’t force a dead person to do squat. Kayn had to take herself out. That was the intelligent move. His grandfather was pacing back and forth cursing up a storm. Kevin had been fairly certain that Tiberius had no serious intentions with Lexy but the panic in his eyes, led him to believe he was missing a part of the story. It struck him as peculiar that Tiberius would be this concerned about a girl who was practically indestructible. It didn’t take them long to get to where they’d been told the Ankh were being held. One of their Triad had an ability to find immortal beings at close range using a heat sensing aura filter. It didn’t take more than a few seconds for everyone else to figure out that they’d split up the Dragons and Handlers because there were two accumulations of heat signatures on the property. They were using Zach to control Kayn and Grey to control Lexy. It was the obvious move. At one point in his life he could have guessed every move Kayn would make but not anymore. 

      In his visions Kayn was with Grey and they were trying to force her to put her light into a sword so they could use it to pass through the hall of souls. They peeled away and sped to the closest group of heat signatures. Triad got out and raced to the barn. Instinct told him Kayn wasn’t in there. She was in the barn on the outskirts of the property. Intuition urged him to use their psychic connection to get through to her. Kevin remained in the car with the engine running as he slipped into his mind. She needed to be taken out of the equation. He thought of who Kayn was and what she was destined to become. Visions of her travelled through his mind, the freckles on her skin, the way sunlight shone through her hair brought him to her. She couldn’t see him but he could see her. As Kayn stepped closer to the blade, he fought to get through to her, “No! Don’t do it! We have the others. Take yourself out!" Kayn paused, appearing to be confused. She’d heard him. She took another step, without her eyes leaving the blade on the table. Why should she trust me? She was going to need more. He spoke to her subconscious again, “Do you remember when we were thirteen and we were caught sneaking your dad’s homemade beer out of your carport? I told him it was all me. I told him it was my idea and you didn’t even know I had it. I told you I would always have your back. Please! believe in me now!” 

     Kayn stopped, looked at her captors and said, “I’ll do it, but Grey goes first.”

     Kevin snapped back to the here and now as screams of agony rang out from the barn. Lexy’s up.

     The rest of the Triad sprinted out and got into the vehicle. Tiberius jumped into the front seat yelling, “Go! Go! She’s got this!”

     Kevin stomped on the gas and floored it to the other group. They didn’t need directions. They could see it smoking. They pulled up as a man staggered out of the barn fully engulfed in flames. She’d taken the whole place out. Kevin raced into the inferno. Shots rang out. His eyes met with charbroiled Kayn’s as she went down. Someone walked past lugging a corpse. That must have been Grey. He stood in the backdrop of the raging flames in awe of her sacrifice. She’d listened to him even though she had no reason to. Perhaps, the future he’d envisioned wasn’t a fantasy? He knelt before Kayn, picked her up and walked out with her blistered unrecognizable corpse in his arms. 

     Tiberius commented, “Holy hell. She sure toasted herself. We’ve got to get out of here. I’ve called the Aries Group. They’re on their way. This may seem insensitive, but we don’t have enough room in the car, we’re going to have to put the bodies in the trunk.”

     Kevin placed Kayn’s body on a blanket and someone else tossed Grey’s into the trunk on top of her. Kevin scowled at his fellow Triad as he moved Grey, so he was lying beside her. He tucked them in with another blanket and closed the trunk.

     Stephanie nudged Tiberius and teased, “Are we just delivering the bodies to the others or do we have to give that red-headed psycho a ride?”

     “Jealous?” Tiberius baited.

     “Not in the least,” Stephanie bickered as she stared out of the window while drinking from her water bottle. 

Universe Building -- Kim Cormack
Universe Building -- Kim Cormack 

Universe Building -- Kim Cormack
Universe Building -- Kim Cormack 


Kim Cormack gives us a sneak peak into Triad's perspective. This is her universe building from the Children of Ankh Series and her latest work in progress. You can find links to her work from her website: http://kimcormack.com Her books are available at Smashwords and Amazon

© Author Kim Cormack  / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved. - Children of Ankh Series - Book 4 of Kayn's series - "Handlers of Dragons" Book 3 of Lexy's series - "Deplorable Me" Coming Summer 2018

#OgFOMK #KimCormack #childrenofankhseries #paranormalromance #urbanfantasy #childrenofankh #SweetSleep #Enlightenment #LetThereBeDragons #HandlersofDragons #WildThing #WickedThing #DeplorableMe #BringOutYourDead #FrostBitten #Ankh #Trinity #Triad #immortals



Mykel Board

25. May. 2017
By Mykel Board - Bio

I'm publishing this here by special request... :


Another reminder that, despite the politics, life (and race) is NOT just black or white.

I was in the extremely crowded first car of a subway yesterday. The train pulled into the station late. The driver was a woman (black) and I could see she looked upset when the train arrived.

The train was delayed while there were calls for the transit police to come to the front... an emergency. The doors stayed open while the train became more and more packed. Finally, when no one else could fit in the car, two transit cops arrived (black, white) and forced themselves into the car, next to the driver's compartment.

The driver's door opened and a little boy, maybe 6 years old, (black) walked out wearing a school-like backpack. He had tear-stained cheeks. He looked around the crowded car, ready to cry some more.

One of the transit cops (black) pushes his way to the little boy and makes a path so the kid can get toward the door and the other transit cop. The kid looks up at the two cops, unsure, it seemed, if he should be scared or relieved.

One of the cops (white) softly puts his hand on the kid's shoulder. "Don't worry son," he says, "we'll get you home."

The kid smiled.

It's just a reminder that people are human. Not just good or bad... things are not just black or white. Everyone is mixed. We have good days and bad days. We do good things and bad things. That includes cops, Jewish lawyers, radical rightists, radical leftists, and everyday human beings. We need to stop seeing the world and the people in the world as GOOD or BAD. We need to stop seeing everything in black and white.

So much for this morning's rant.


Mykel Board - New York Life: Not just Black and White
Mykel Board - New York Life: Not just Black and White

Mykel Board is a friend of ours. He sometimes posts on facebook stuff that should be shared with the world. We asked him to post this about his experience watching people be good. We already know that he will point out the opposite. We love Mykel. We've been reading him since 1986 as a Maximum Rock-N-Roll contributor.

© Mykel Board / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved. - THE New York Life  - - "Not Black and White"

#OgFOMK #Mykel Board #Race #Racism #NewYorkCity


The Heat of Greed

22. May. 2018

There is heat in the fireplace and there is fire
Under the hood of the very fast automobile,
Incendiary fires that propel the just, the godless
And the awaiting into fecal or fecund horizons

Becoming food, fear and then incapable
Of compassion while the bacon fries and
Slaughter continues that, not to mention,
The poor, senseless aggregates that have

Bound their karma to the systematic
Killing of other beings whose sweet eyes
Are snuffed out not for hunger but for

What we all do for greed is indeed what
We Don’t need but to heed the seed
Of a good

Here lies the beckoned and the banquet
Host caries such a large anchor behind
Her head or His head
We all know he is already or she is already dead;

Then she shelves her guests or he does so too,
It’s a terrible cycle that goes on and on
All for greed,
The heat of greed that causes endless violent suffering;

It’s not a punishment!
As soon as He wakes and she wakes
The thread of suffering us cut and there then is joy;

No longer does the fire demand fodder
The fire then demands nothing
And it is fire and he and she do not fear
It will be extinguished nor do they dread its return;

They are both units of awareness and those units
Are just like the fire
Here and gone, here and gone, here and gone
No need to kill for greed. No need, indeed.

 Alex Nuttall, title: The Heat of Greed, Original Date: 20180521
 Alex Nuttall, title: The Heat of Greed, Original Date: 20180521

The feast and fire of greed by Alex Nuttall in the poem: "Heat of Greed".

 Alex Nuttall, title: The Heat of Greed, Original Date: 20180521 – © Alex Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 2018 – 2018 – Retro-published 20180522.

#AlexNuttall #OgFOMK #Poetry #Heat #Greed



Indefinite Length, Part 7

17. May 2018

Charlee sits with an old legal pad and a pen emblazoned with the logo from Your Friendly Neighborhood Bar & Grille(TM), making a list of names, ordering them and re-ordering them. Bugs and frogs and passing cars outside the apartment, foley artists of the night, provide a soundtrack that Charlee does not hear. The task at hand is all-consuming.

Ex-lovers, ex-friends, family, co-workers; all the usual suspects. Everyone's been burned by them, that's not special. This transfer has to be special. Charlee crosses out the list and tries again. Politicians, celebrities, pie-in-the-sky names. No good, can't get close to those folks.

Another cigarette. Charlee looks at the sigil tattoo, and then copies it onto the legal pad, over and over. Soon the paper is covered with more doodles than names. When there is no more room, Charlee flips to a new sheet.

The clean surface of the blank yellow paper shines up into your face and you blink and drop the pen.

Now, you hear the traffic. You hear the frogs calling to each other. You hear the moths dive-bombing the flood light mounted just outside your window, in their frustrated and mistaken attempt to find food, or a mate, or a way out of what they perceive as a dangerous darkness. The sounds pound at your head, you put your hands up to your ears, how can fucking moths be so loud? A hundred drums in your thoughts, the marching rhythm line that syncs the steps of a hundred soldiers, each of the names you'd written before are driven out, in lockstep, off to fight another day. This is not their battle; this is much, much bigger than them.

That DUI, you think. (The sounds pause, a beat of silence.) The stupid bitch who rear-ended my dad. That was thirty years ago. Where is she now?

What about that kiddie-toucher from our old neighborhood? Is he still alive? (Silence, moth wings, silence again.)

Or that hood rat bastard who lynched our 5-month-old puppy the day after Christmas?

You write down three names on the blank sheet. Then sleep comes. You do not dream.

Indefinite Length, Part 7 -- Photo By Kim Breeding-Mercer
Indefinite Length, Part 7 -- Photo By Kim Breeding-Mercer

IN WHICH: Charlee sits with an old legal pad and a pen emblazoned with the logo from Your Friendly Neighborhood Bar & Grille(TM), making a list of names, ordering them and re-ordering them.

© KIM BREEDING-MERCER / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved. - "Indefinite Length, Part 7"

#OgFOMK #KimBreedingMercer #IndefiniteLength #IDP #Fiction #streamofconsciousness



We've Cancelled All Ads

14. May 2018

  We've Cancelled All Ads -- The Real Editor in Chief!
We've Cancelled All Ads -- The Real Editor in Chief!
Today I have shut off the Google ads and I will crawl through and remove any Amazon ads that I have put in this magazine. Authors who have included links to their products are exempt from this and thus may attach their own works because that is an intimate distribution.

I have learned that the best things in life are given. These gifts are from the labor of others and they are to be given without attachment. Our magazine is something I am very proud of and I will continue to write for it and encourage others to do the same. We don't need ads. 

It was my idea that we could support the magazine with ads. We could pay those who wrote for it. We could advance our careers with our virtual pens. This is just not the reality. The reality is that I will pay for it anyway. I will share it with whoever wants to see it. It's a labor of love.

I hope those of you who have contributed will continue to do so. If you are no longer interested please let me know. I will hold no hard feelings. I will always be grateful for your contributions.

Recently I have stumbled onto some literature that has a requirement that it should be free and shared. I also have found audio, video and the like. I have found in addition to this free software, open source software and this in kind. No strings attached. This is because none of us own this Universe. Or we all own this Universe. This is a law, not a lofty idea. 

As human beings we are in the position of ultimate freedom because our minds are just relationships between observations. This is why meditation is so important. This is also why we do not need advertising to sway the minds of others who have thoughtfully investigated our works.

As of this date we have had 33,557 page views. Since my initial recruitment of many of you that is 29,000 more! You may all like me have difficulties but you also have contributed to this house. This house is yours too!

Thank you for your time and eyes.

We've Cancelled All Ads -- Alex Nuttall
We've Cancelled All Ads -- Alex Nuttall

After struggling with the idea of a business for many years OgFOMK ArTS publisher and editor, Alex Nuttall has decided to remove all ads from the rolling distribution in order to focus on freely distributing good writing, art and ideas to those who would appreciate them and enjoy them. Our works are still copyrighted and  the authors, composers and artists reserve the right to do with their own works as they wish. 

© Alexander Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved. - Journal - Operations - "We've Cancelled All Ads"

#OgFOMK #AlexNuttall #Advertisement #ads #free



New York Life: Suggestions on Broadway

6 May 2018
By Mykel Board - Bio

Saw this today on a pillar on lower Broadway. It looks like it's been there awhile... but it remains good advice, I think. Around Broadway and Third St.

Mykel Board - New York Life: Suggestions on Broadway
New York Life: Suggestions on Broadway
(My long, contrarian blog is at mykelsblog.blogspot.com)

Our great world traveller and Punk Rock legendary musician and writer, Mykel Board, shares his New York Life: Suggestions on Broadway. You can check out his blog: mykelsblog.blogspot.com

© Mykel Board / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved. - THE New York Series - I Forget What NUMBER - "Broadway Advice"

#OgFOMK #MykelBoard #BroadwayAdvice



Indefinite Length, Part 6

30. Apr. 2018

© KIM BREEDING-MERCER / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved. - "Indefinite Length, Part 6"
© KIM BREEDING-MERCER - "Indefinite Length, Part 6"

A low hum and sheltering bubble of shade persist at table 2, where you sit across from a man who has just given you the power to rid yourself of -- what did he call it? -- "Sludge?"

"The stuff that weighs you down."

Pain. Spots. Disappointment. Clogs. Fear and sadness, all the loss you've ever felt. Tar. "Anger?"

He nods. "Yes, that too."

All of it, just tossed into someone else's lap. You know so many worthy assholes! But--

"Why me? Why now?"

"Ah," he croons, and leans in, folding his hands on the table, making a steeple with his index fingers. He wiggles them, then stops. "You made the call." He looks into your eyes. "Really!" He unfolds his hands and taps his right index finger on the table, as if pointing to something. "Try writing your dreams down once in a while. As much as you can remember. After a while, you'll be able to mine gold from that." He smiles, and that feeling of recognition pokes at your brain again.

You watch as Johnny Facenda stands. The sights and sounds of Your Friendly Neighborhood Bar & Grille(TM) rush in around you. He walks out the door.

You can hear your staff in the kitchen, and as you look around you see that all the chairs are up on their tables, the floor has been mopped, and the TVs over the bar are dark and silent. You force yourself to get up and participate in the ritual of closing.

As you walk home you think about your childhood, and recall a day of sunshine and laughter, and wonder; dandelions, buttercups, bicycles, and awe. You step over a discarded Gatorade bottle full of piss, and pull out your pack of cigarettes. Does darkness include cancer? Fuck cancer. You light up.

The night is clear, and the air is moving. Breezes ruffle your overcoat and blow the exhaled smoke away from your lips quickly and efficiently. Your eyes water. You're looking forward to a long, hot shower, grinning in spite of yourself as you begin to make a mental list of people you hate; people karma forgot. You look down at the palm of your hand, and even in the dim light of the suburban street you're walking on you can see the sigil. "Me and you, sexy, we're gonna give it to 'em," you say.

Indefinite Length, Part 6 -- Photo By Kim Breeding-Mercer
Indefinite Length, Part 6 -- Photo By Kim Breeding-Mercer

IN WHICH: You step over a discarded Gatorade bottle full of piss, and pull out your pack of cigarettes. Does darkness include cancer? Fuck cancer. You light up.

Indefinite Length is part of the Long Range Reconnaissance Role Playing Game: LRRRPG.com

© KIM BREEDING-MERCER / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved. - "Indefinite Length, Part 6"

#OgFOMK #KimBreedingMercer #IndefiniteLength #IDP #Fiction #streamofconsciousness #LRRRPG



Wash Land Restroom Blues

24. April 2018

Wash Land Restroom Blues
Wash Land Restroom Blues

Sometimes I go to the laundromat to wash my work clothes because my wife has nice clothes at home that do not need to be molested by my soiled, toil rags.

Washing Machines
Washing Machines

Sometimes I use the restroom there several times within a 45 minute period because I have a large beer stein that I fill with coffee and my bladder is not the same size.

Wash Land with Stein
Wash Land with Stein

Sometimes I am thinking that people will notice that I am going to the restroom too often because I think I am very important and people need to watch my every move.

Wash Land Restroom
Wash Land Restroom

Sometimes I overcome the little anxiety of frequent urination because peeing in my pants will reveal an even more pressing issue of my psychosis.

Wash Land Building
Wash Land Building

Sometimes after extreme mental exercise I come up with an idea to write about that makes absolutely no sense but with pictures, insight and experience may lead to liberation.

Wash Land Sign
Wash Land Sign

Alex Nuttall has spent many points of his life in Laundromats and restrooms. Working in the other than office world has led him to many messy clothes. During these breaks in routine he has frequently documented the rise and fall of the Long Range Reconnaissance Role Playing Game. As a Game Master and Reverend he trains thoroughly with ordinary adventures.

Alex Nuttall, title: Wash Land Restroom Blues, Original Date: 20180424 – © Alex Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 2018 – 2018 – Published 20180424.

#OgFOMK #Journal #Prose #AlexNuttall #Laundry #Restroom #Coffee #LRRRPG #GameMaster #Reverend



Indefinite Length, Part 5

17. Apr. 2018

© KIM BREEDING-MERCER / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved. - "Indefinite Length, Part 5"
KIM BREEDING-MERCER -"Indefinite Length, Part 5"

The brain can be tricked, and will often even trick itself, into hearing and seeing things that are not, objectively, there. You are a poor judge of the truth even on a good day, but the man who sits across from you at Your Friendly Neighborhood Bar & Grille(TM) looks real enough, even if Your Friendly Neighborhood Bar & Grille(TM) has somehow receded into the ether of before-and-after. You're not so sure of your own presence, though. You feel your lips move.

"I know you. Who are you?"

"Johnny Facenda."

"Yeah, got that part." Charlee looks at the man's face, and feels something tugging in the guts, or at the heart, or both. They stare at each other for a moment. Charlee's mind races, trying to connect dots that keep blinking in and out of existence. "What are you doing here?"

"Talking to one Charlee Hagwood, proprietor of a fine eatery and, let's admit it now, a sad sack with no light left inside."

Charlee's chest tightens. "How do you know me?"

"We've met later. You mix a great margarita. Now, though, at this particular point along the linear you, it's time to make you an offer." His hands, which are clasped in front of him on the table, part to reveal a small sphere. It is glowing a painful shade of chartreuse, the bright color of spring pollen. "You take this node," he says, and drops it into Charlee's palm.

You don't remember extending your hand. The—node?—feels weightless and fragile, like impossibly thin glass. It shifts against your skin, warm, and as you watch, it sinks into your hand until only a faint yellow sigil remains. It's a tall triangle, with smaller copies of itself arranged inside it, shrinking down in a spiral pattern until the tiniest triangle disappears. But you can see it. You can see the smaller ones, and smaller still. You blink to refocus. Your new tattoo tickles. You scratch it, and the node rises up again. "What do I do with this?"

"For now, put it away," he says, and the node wiggles and snuggles back down, leaving the sigil. "You can use it when you meet the right person."

Charlee's eyebrows rise. "I'm not interested in a relationship, man."

Johnny Facenda laughs, and it sounds a bit like a flute. "No one wants a relationship with you, either! Maybe after you get rid of your sludge." He points to the sigil. "When you find the person to give your darkness to, wake the node. It will handle the transfer. You'll be light as a feather again."

© KIM BREEDING-MERCER / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved. - "Indefinite Length, Part 5"
Indefinite Length, Part 5

IN WHICH: His hands, which are clasped in front of him on the table, part to reveal a small sphere. It is glowing a painful shade of chartreuse, the bright color of spring pollen.

© KIM BREEDING-MERCER / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved. - "Indefinite Length, Part 5"

#OgFOMK #KimBreedingMercer #IndefiniteLength #IDP #Fiction #streamofconsciousness



My Father Ellis

7. April 2018

Essay by Alex Nuttall, title: My Father Ellis, Original Date: 20180402 – © Alex Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 2018 – 2018 – Published .
My Father Ellis -- Alex Nuttall and Father

My grandfather’s name was George Ellis Nuttall.  He was a concrete contractor and builder. He was a fisherman, crabber and seafood vendor. He was a hunter. He was a crane operator. He was a World War II veteran. He was also a redleg.

George Ellis Nuttall and Alexander Nuttall -- Photo By Donald Nuttall 1984
George Ellis Nuttall and Alexander Nuttall -- Photo By Donald Nuttall 1984

Sometime during World War II my grandfather went to Fort Sill, Oklahoma to become an artillery man. There is where he became a redleg. A redleg is a fellow who served in artillery. This was more than 50 years before I found myself there in Lawton, Oklahoma at Fort Sill in 1995.

My father’s middle name is Ellis too.  My father is a builder. He’s a fisherman. He was a soldier in Vietnam. He served in the Signal Corps as a mess sergeant. He cooked for thousands of soldiers. He went to Fort Benning, Georgia.

Donald Nuttall and Alexander Nuttall, 1977, Florida
Donald Nuttall and Alexander Nuttall, 1977, Florida

In 1995 I decided to join the U.S. Army National Guard. I was 25 years old. I ended up going for my Basic Training and Advanced Individual Training (AIT) around September 1995. I had selected to become a Fire Support Specialist because I was already studying computers and networking. A Fire Support Specialist is also known as a FISTer. A FISTer is a member of the Fire Support Team (FiST). The FIST element is part of DIVARTY (Division of Artillery). So in 1995 I became a redleg too.

In January 1996 I was still at Fort Sill. I graduated Basic Training and I was heading over to my AIT. I was excited. I had survived 9 weeks of Basic Training (Really 11 weeks because the government was shutdown a week but that’s another story). I was officially a trained soldier. I went from running 2 miles in 16 minutes to running 2 miles in 10:58 minutes. I was 175 pounds of light, muscular goodness.

Basic was definitely a challenge but I was able to take it. I was about 6 years older than most recruits. I was 25. So I was old. I survived Basic so I was ready now to pursue my MOS (Military Occupation).

My fellow recruits and I made it to Charlie Battery. It was different than Basic. Instead of being like prison where they handed you a weapon sometimes, AIT was like work release where you had to go to classes, catch buses to and fro and sometimes they handed you weapons, laser range finders, radios, computers and the authority to call in some nasty artillery. We would learn to rain Hell.

Besides the school, tech stuff and advanced field training we would run. Every other day we would run 2 miles, 3 miles, 5 miles, 12 miles. We ran because a FISTer is supposed to be able to carry a lot of stuff. He had to carry beans, bullets, an M16 A2, A radio, a laser range finder, binoculars, a field artillery (Light Tac Fire) computer and toilet paper. A FISTer also had to do what the infantry did while attached to the Infantry. So we ran a lot.

In the down times I had the greatest thing in the world. I had a cheap personal radio/cassette player. Many times I just put on my headphones and listened to Public Radio. If I listened to my two tapes1 the batteries would die quickly.  I chose public radio so that I could enjoy classical or jazz and no stupid commercials.

One night while feeling proud, a little nostalgic and mostly at peace with myself, I put on my headphones and dialed in the Lawton Public Radio Station (http://kccu.org/). It was about 2100. Lights were out. I was listening to a jazz piece.

As I listened I thought about who I was. I was a warrior. My father was a soldier. My grandfather was a soldier. I imagined all the times I spent with my grandfather and my dad. I was feeling a bright shining connection to life.  You see I had no idea that my grandfather went to Fort Sill when I joined. It was only when my grandmother told me as I was saying goodbye to her before I left for training that I found out. I thought about that too.

As the jazz piece ended I heard the disk jockey’s reassuring voice about what I had just heard. He said, “That was Wynton Marsalis, “My Father Ellis.” I thought about my Father, my Grandfather and all of my family. I thought about this composer and his father.

I shut of my radio and went to sleep. The Universe seemed very right. I felt love and loved.

By feinsteinphotos (Flickr) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
Wynton Marsalis, “My Father Ellis.”


    1. Ellis Marsalis Jr. – https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:EllisMarsalisJr.jpg
    2. Wynton Marsalis – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wynton_Marsalis
    3. Fort Sill – http://sill-www.army.mil/ 
    4. Fort Sill – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fort_Sill
    5. 111th Field Artillery – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/111th_Field_Artillery_Regiment
    6. Virginia Army National Guard – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Virginia_Army_National_Guard
    7. 29th Infantry Division – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/29th_Infantry_Division_(United_States)
    8. FIST – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forward_observers_in_the_U.S._military
    9. FIST 13F – https://www.goarmy.com/careers-and-jobs/browse-career-and-job-categories/combat/fire-support-specialist.html 
    10. KCCU Public Radio – http://kccu.org/ 


1. [Salem 66, “Frequency and Urgency” and Meat Puppets, “Up on the Sun”]

1996 Alex Nuttall was thinking about his father, his grandfather and his relationship to them. He thought also about where he was, Fort Sill, Oklahoma. While listening to a Public Radio Broadcast he was given a sign that he was surely in the right place of his life.

Essay by Alex Nuttall, title: My Father Ellis, Original Date: 20180402 – © Alex Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 2018 – 2018 – Published .

#OgFOMK #Journal #Prose #AlexNuttall #MyFatherEllis #Father #Grandfather #FortSill #FISTER #13F #Army #Artillery



A Tree Was Planted

6 Apr 2018

© Cristy Johnson Bowen / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved. - Poetry -- "A Tree Was Planted"
A Tree Was Planted -- Cristy Johnson Bowen 

A tree was planted
Promising strength and longevity
The clouds rolled in
Threatening uncertainty and turmoil
The rain fell
Intending to dampen dreams
Lightning lit the sky
Set on piercing tranquility
Thunder roared
Calling on fear and anxiety

A tree was planted
The clouds warned her
The rains fed her
The thunder and lightning stood no chance
She was already grounded
Alive in the storm

A Tree Was Planted -- Photo: Alex Nuttall, Stratford Hall, VA
A Tree Was Planted

Cristy Johnson Bowen writes from the heart with words that befuddle gentlemen and ladies. She can conjure the divine from the rags of life to the riches of civilisation. Here she illustrates a tree that has no fear of the storm because the chaos of the storm is what develops and shapes her!

Photo: Alex Nuttall, Stratford Hall, VA

© Cristy Johnson Bowen / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved. - Poetry -- "A Tree Was Planted"

#OgFOMK #CristyJohnsonBowen #Poetry #Tree



Indefinite Length, Part 4

5. Apr. 2018

KIM BREEDING-MERCER / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved. - "Indefinite Length, Part 4"
KIM BREEDING-MERCER / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved. - "Indefinite Length, Part 4"

The man who sits alone at the second booth on the left just inside the main entrance to Your Friendly Neighborhood Bar & Grille(TM) has sandy-blonde hair, a thick set of matching blonde eyebrows, and an old, beat up pair of transition-lens glasses that still show a bit of gray, unable to fully clear up anymore. He had ordered a coffee, a water, and a slice of key lime pie two and a half hours ago, paid his tab, and refused any offers of refills. The waitresses thought the poor guy had been stood up at first, but as the time ticked by and other patrons emptied out, they began to worry for themselves instead. A trio of them goes to Charlee with their concerns.

"Boss, do you see that man over there at table 2?" asks the short brunette.


"He's been here ALL NIGHT," moans the tall, thin one.


"No, he just had coffee," the short one replies.

"He pay?"

"Yeah, but that was like, a hundred years ago," says the one with the dark, round face. "He's just sitting there."

Charlee takes a longer look at the man. "He mess with anybody?"

The girls look at each other and shrug. "No?" says the short one, her voice rising. "But I mean, it's weird."

Charlee nods. "Ok, I'll keep my eye on him. It's fairly dead in here so if you want to clock out now and leave together, go ahead." The girls agree and walk off, chatting in hushed tones.

Closing time approaches, and as the last barflys settle their tab and the kitchen staff begins to clean up, Charlee walks over to table 2.

"Everything ok for you tonight, sir?"

The man grins. "Doin' good. You free now?"

"Excuse me?"

"Closing up soon, right? Got a minute to chat now that you're not busy?"

Charlee blinks. "Do I know you?"

"Oh sure," the man replies, extending his hand for Charlee to shake. "Johnny, Johnny Facenda."

Charlee's hand raises of its own accord. They shake hands, and Charlee sits opposite him in the booth. The world shrinks around them, the single pendant light hanging above the table is the only lumination in the galaxy now, and a low hum drowns out all other sound, and thought, and reason.

You know this man.

Indefinite Length, Part 4 -- Kim Breeding-Mercer
Indefinite Length, Part 4 -- Kim Breeding-Mercer

IN WHICH: The waitresses thought the poor guy had been stood up at first, but as the time ticked by and other patrons emptied out, they began to worry for themselves instead.

© KIM BREEDING-MERCER / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved. - "Indefinite Length, Part 4"

#OgFOMK #KimBreedingMercer #IndefiniteLength #IDP #Fiction #streamofconsciousness



FedEx Small Business Grant Contest

4. April. 2018

Hard Times Skate Shop, Toney Herndon Interviewed by WVEC 13
Hard Times Skate Shop, Toney Herndon Interviewed by WVEC 13

Help, HELP, Help!!!  Emergency, EMERGENCY! Your assistance is required IMMEDIATELY.  URGENT.  OK, not really, but I’d really appreciate your help.  It’s been a while, so I’ll reintroduce myself.

Hard Times Skate Shop, Toney Herndon Interviewed by WVEC 13
Hard Times Skate Shop, Toney Herndon Interviewed by WVEC 13

I’m Toney Herndon, owner of Hard Times Skate Shop, located in Portsmouth, VA, Google us.

Recently we entered FedEx Small Business Grant Contest, and we could use your help with some votes.  In case you’re not familiar with Hard Times Skate Shop, here’s a quick run-down.  We’re like a quick escape from the up, and downs of everyday life.

Hard Times Skate Shop, Toney Herndon Interviewed by WVEC 13
Hard Times Skate Shop, Toney Herndon Interviewed by WVEC 13 

We offer the latest skateboard necessities, apparel, and footwear from some of the most respected brands in skateboarding.  With simple objects, like a plank of wood, a set of metal trucks, and four plastic wheels, we’re able to teleport you from the stresses of everyday life.  It doesn’t matter if you’re old, young, or just looking for a new challenge.  We’re here to help you along the way.

Hard Times is retail therapy for thrill seekers, in search of something more than just your typical shopping experience.  We are actively involved in our community and our atmosphere is easy going.  Our number one priority is to make sure all experiences are positive and happy.  HURRY UP, go vote now at:

Last day to submit votes is April 4, 2018 at midnight..  

Thanks, for the love,


Toney Herndon was featured in a local business article about another business: http://www.13newsnow.com/mobile/article/news/local/small-business-gets-big-boost-in-portsmouth/291-535301644

(We had the video here but the ad automatically started the commercial so it was removed. --Ed.)

Toney Herndon is working very hard to keep the Afton Square Shopping Area and Portsmouth in a positive lifestyle with edge. His skateshop offers all the services you'd expect but his business also hosts artists, events and networking. Hit the link above and vote for his business to get this grant. Toney will invest it in the area and Portsmouth will benefit!

© Toney Herndon / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved. - THE WHATEVER SERIES - NUMBER OF SERIES - "Hard Tmes Skate Shop/ FedEx Small Business Grant Contest"

#OgFOMK #ToneyHerndon #HardTimes #SkateShop #Business #Grant


Making the Publishing Leap

04 April 2018

My first book was “Cordwood”, brought out by 22 Press in 1985. Shortly after publishing my book, 22 Press folded, the publisher ran off with his secretary, and I started getting calls from the publisher’s wife, other 22 Press authors, and 22 Press creditors, all wanting to know if I had any idea of where he could have run off to. “Cordwood” was instantly out of print. An exciting first book debut.

My second book – more of a chapbook, actually – was “Sciences, Social”, 1995, from Palanquin Books, then an imprint of the University of South Carolina at Aiken Press. I suspect the University press is still there, but Palanquin Books most likely has evaporated. Nonetheless, there is at least one copy of “Sciences Social” on sale at Amazon, at twice its original asking price.

I took a while off. I had published perhaps 700 poems and stories in places like “The Iowa Review”, “The Alaska Quarterly Review”, “The Altadena Review” and many, many other venues. It was time to reflect.

When I came back in 2009, the world had changed. Now there was the Internet. MFA programs had exploded – even the local University had one. There were still print publications, but webzines had taken the place of the mimeograph collections, and some of the off-set print efforts, I had been part of before. Whether or not it was read, you could now publish your work in a venue that, theoretically, was available to a billion readers – instantly. E-books were beginning to come into vogue.

As an aside, my two latest published fiction pieces have in the last few days come out in “Tuck Magazine” and “Spank the Carp”:

Be one of the billion.

After re-inserting myself into the fast-moving literary world, I began to think about doing another book. I wanted to bring out my first collection of mini-fictions, “Constant Animals”. I started looking at the small presses, but I noticed more of them in this modern world were charging reading or contest fees, and that many of the published authors were coming out of the MFA production line. I sent out some trial balloons that slapped my checking account and which fell with a thunderous disapproval at my feet. I felt I had a publishing resume that would indicate a favorable outcome for a book launch, but I was not finding like-minded publishers.

I thought about it and said maybe I should be doing my own e-book. This is when I found the generational divide. My older writer friends, from the pre-1995 days, said, “Eck, vanity publishing”; my younger writer friends, post-2009, said, “Sure, why not?”

I felt I was on solid ground. Of the 42 stories in “Constant Animals”, 39 had been previously published, and one had been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Unlike a novelist publishing his own work, my stories and poems got to roam about the literary world as individuals, providing me feedback about their efficacy.

The high days of vanity publishing entailed sending your manuscript and check off to a “publisher” who would print X copies of your book, ship them back to you, and you could hand them out to your friends. Self-publishing an e-book, or a print-on-demand (POD) book, seemed more a personal investment in self than a display of ego. Maybe that is the rationale of a revisionist.

So, initially, I did “Constant Animals” as an e-book. After six months or so, I realized that a lot of people wanted physical books, so I went through Amazon and produced a CreateSpace book.

It was surprising to me when I found that many authors were doing this. And that many presses were fronts for collections of writers who were using the press to bring out their own books.

So, I came up with Barking Moose Press: www.barkingmoosepress.com. I manage my current four books through the LLC:

  • “Constant Animals”, mini-fictions
  • “The Book of Robot”, speculative poetry
  • “Victims of a Failed Civics”, speculative poetry
  • “Avenging Cartography”, mini-fictions

Since the books are carried by the distributors Ingram, and Baker and Taylor, they can be bought on just about any bookselling website, can be ordered at most bookstores, and are carried in my local area by two independent bookstores.

I control the type, I control the proofreading, I control the covers. The dream of a megalomaniac.

If you want the specifics surrounding the actual mechanics, I can provide that in another column at a later time.

“Avenging Cartography”, mini-fictions
“Avenging Cartography”, mini-fictions

“Constant Animals”, mini-fictions
“Constant Animals”, mini-fictions

 “The Book of Robot”, speculative poetry
 “The Book of Robot”, speculative poetry

“Victims of a Failed Civics”, speculative poetry
“Victims of a Failed Civics”, speculative poetry

Ken Poyner has been writing for many effing years. Here he lays on the ways and means of his literary success. Like a bull he pushes through with his works and he is unlike that bull able to share with us what his experience is like. He does readings, workshops and enjoys sharing his work. As far as the business goes he is learning like the rest of us. He toils. He farms. He produces. We thank him for his service!

© Ken Poyner / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved.

#OgFOMK #KenPoyner #Publishing #Selfpublishing #NonFiction #Books