Flash Fiction by the Okupniak Sisters (1)

By on Sep 11, 2016 in Art/Photography, Cuttings | Comments Off

This flash fiction project was born from a meditative state. There was no planning involved. As an exercise, Natalie began creating ideas from her typewriter on note cards. The words served as a way to capture ideas that were flowing from her brain. The ideas were just meant for reference and inspiration. As they sat collecting dust, Gen rescued them and gave them visuals. Each card is made the day it is posted. The purpose of this exercise is to consistently post work to inspire the creators and their audience. The Flash Fiction Project can be found online: daily updates...

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By on Sep 13, 2015 in Cuttings, Fiction | Comments Off

Moira Leibowitz was a force of nature, all long curly hair, shawls and scarves, and the scent of patchouli. We were organizing the grad students that winter — protesting, wearing buttons, threatening to strike. Moira brought her guitar and played songs like “We Shall Overcome” on it, wearing her grey gloves with the fingers cut off, the same gloves that handed out coffee to everyone on the especially cold days. I remember her voice was low and warm, but it carried. We were too young to realize nothing would come of it all. Sure, they would show up and drink coffee and sing, but putting...

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What You Can’t See

By on Sep 13, 2015 in Cuttings, Fiction | 1 comment

  South Vietnam — 1968   Clack went the shutter on my camera. The two South Vietnamese soldiers looked at one another, nodded and stepped back from the edge of the bomb crater. One pulled a cigarette from a pack in his breast pocket and lighted it. He offered one to his comrade, who shook his head and turned to look across the rice paddies toward the high ground, where a network of trees drew clean, black lines against the yellow sky.   A hand squeezed my shoulder, and I looked up. The company commander tapped my camera with his finger and whispered, “Take any...

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By on May 31, 2015 in Cuttings, Featured, Poetry | Comments Off

clinging to a twig with unmoving tiny claws — cicada shell

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By on May 17, 2015 in Cuttings, Fiction | Comments Off

Babies know when they come out unwanted. I did. I was born with a hole right inside my heart and spent too many years tryin’ to fill a space that didn’t want to be filled. I never knew the empty could be so heavy. Daddy already flew away by then, and Momma didn’t care enough to use her own healin’ touch. She shoved me off on Rayanne, who never wanted me anyhow. We lived down a long, dirt road and out past a barn older than my Momma. She told me once that she kissed a boy in the hay field down the way. She said he smelled like fresh dirt and had a freckle by his left ear. She’d...

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Nylon Rain

By on Mar 22, 2015 in Cuttings, Featured, Poetry | Comments Off

The rain comes down on nylon lines as nylon rain, each fiber-optic strand a light shine- shrine, and a vibrating way.

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