Good punk rock should pummel you like a panic attack – forcing your glands to scream adrenaline, bringing a sour sweat and a manic itch to the skin.
An Evening of Extraordinary Circumstance by Heather Rick
The Writing Life: Writing About It by Michael Suppa
It’s the first moment of normalcy in the last four and a half months. Then, I glance at her walker, the portable table, the flowered box holding a mass of medication, and the moment is gone. I’m back at the hospital.
The Flip Side by Lori A. May
He was a record rep for the area promoting new releases to local music shops, handing out review copies to the press, and coordinating with venues before, during, and after shows. We became friends when I was a review junkie…
A Piece for Assorted Lunatics by Anne Clendening
The Dark Side of the Moon. Brilliant. Psychedelic. Mad genius. My brother and I would sit on the floor, fixated on the iconic graphic on the cover: A prism with a spectrum of colors emerging.
Toothbrush by MT Cozzola
“You have got to be kidding me.” We’re standing in Mom’s bathroom, my brother David and I, tugging on opposite ends of a toothbrush. Until two days ago, we called this Dad’s bathroom, even years after he died.
The Shangri-La That Isn’t by Jennifer Tuman
Heat and flies. Flies landing on my head, my arm, my plate, my food. Flies I have to constantly flick away while I eat.
Only Child by Julie Marie Wade
A pretty, polka-dot envelope comes for me in the mail. My mother says I am too young for secret admirers, so we open the letter together. “It’s an invitation,” she smiles.
Editor’s Notes: June 2012
May was so much fun! But our birthday month (and celebration) has come to an end. And that means a shiny, brand new issue of Hippocampus Magazine is live.
Review: Steve Jobs by Walter Issacson
Walter Isaacson’s biography of Steve Jobs, titled simply Steve Jobs, is not the first book about Jobs, though it is the first since his death and the only one prepared with his assistance and approval.
In Transit by Heather Rick
..Devin was the only person I knew with an actual job. Granted, he stocked children’s rollerblades and cans of tennis balls in the sports department of some Walmart … Still, it was enough for him to be a swaggering minimum-wage retail sugar daddy …
