There is the master who transcends likeness (for He is not any one thing but all things) and there is the master who wears a different robe for every servant who seeks his knowledge and his favor. In his myriad of forms he is inherently the same and the finitude of Earth’s covering grants him unlimited power within the temporal horizon. His simultaneous liberation and confinement elicits a call of worship and his temples may assume any shape, so long as they fall within dimensional bounds and are adorned in the embellishments of the ages. Mammon interplays the past and the future and sanctifies his key attribute, which is the forever now. Many of his servants know nothing of him and he has consecrated many of his temples subliminally and given each their own codex.

And this master has power over the senses and he projects sensations of light and sound as cool effusions of painted air rise out of his temples. The native underbrush shivers quietly in the distance daring not to approach the clearing immediately surrounding the structure’s finely-wrought outer gates. There are many thousands of these temples intermixed across the landscapes and they each hide in the guise of physicality, taking whatever incarnation they please – for they can become anything that exists within the closed world of things. To defy Mammon is to gesture towards an absence, the expression of which is both a medium and consequence. The symbol is half rooted in the real and is the vessel to which a thought may attach itself.  The dedicated objects of worship are painfully detailed so that their beauty both overshadows and reinforces Mammon’s teachings simultaneously.

Traces of his paradise in the natural word, as seen by his followers, are found in the gilded veins of leaves hanging motionless beneath the late summer sun and in the cascading bands of finely-spun silk stretched across the ends of the earth, undulating in the lightness of their weave. The colors move in and out of one another in one fluid sweeping motion as the brightness of their tones casts different values of light across the earth. The weight of the rose in full bloom causes it to recede into the blackness between its overlapping branches. Blankets of leaves marbled with yellow and green tones extend out into the distance. The sky and the land are equally saturated with color and appear as if they shared the same plane – and in the council of Mammon, nature is most beautiful when it bears the qualities of that which is made and brought into being by the will.

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dante_homer_virgilEditors’ Introduction: The following is the concluding entry in a two-part series of posts by guest contributor Scath Beorh on the topic of “Mythopoetics.” Part one, which offers definitions of the various mythopoetic categories, can be found here. In this concluding section, Beorh elaborates on the nature of Mythopoetics and discusses the role of the mythopoet in a society in need of divine guidance. We again would like to thank Scath for allowing us to feature his work.



The mythopoet not only trusts no man to lead him—for the promises of God are his foundation—he also nurtures a distrust of all socio-political assertions. At the same time he honors them so that those who follow them can see the light he carries without being able to find fault with him. This measure is principal for the mythopoet who has not only seen the isolation of his own beliefs, but watches the suppression of ancient wisdom at the hands of dogma designed to maintain control of a fragile paradigm threatened by the power of righteousness. Babylon can be found everywhere that righteousness asserts itself. In churches as well as in governments; in universities and well as in the local grange, the insidious creep of control over the people may be found.

Mythopoïesis—the primary tool of the true poet—carries a three-fold purpose:

  • To provide a constructive thesis to use as a guideline for abundant living full of creative and godly imagination;
  • To supply a synthesis of all truths as they relate to Logos Predication;
  • To impart a destructive antithesis equipped to pull down insufficient and aspects of life that have fallen sway to sinister paradigms.

The mythopoet imposes his vision upon a place, refusing to accept a paradigm from it. He weaves a variegated tapestry, often writing of anything and everything. As with any proven artisan, he has his constant—his underlying theme which bleeds through even his most bizarre and seemingly disassociated works.

The creative imagination of the mythopoet is a righteousness-seeking and righteousness-intensifying talent which creates a true vision of reality. He has taken it upon himself to write, and re-write, history if necessary—keeping in mind the ancient mandate that the seanachie, or lore-keeper, should never change the most important facts which work as the unamendable fabric of the narrative. Any rewriting that the poet does is to be done in the spirit of clarification where core truths have been tampered with. It is the very Logos who gives the mythopoet his magical, conscious, far-reaching, and seeing mind needed to maintain the received narrative. With this work of the protection of received wisdom, the mythopoet, as with any seer of the people, may be found at work with narrative that at first may be seen as new lore and undocumented legend, but later understood as valid primeval symbolism and celebrated archaic vision kept hidden by the ancients, thus thought lost.

Mythopoïesis carries the distinct ability to raise history to a different power, and as a body of work is read and re-read, the student moves to higher and higher ground. The mythopoet actually writes place into existence, and destroys soured or profaned places that prove themselves unnecessary to a rightwise existence. Further, the mythopoet reveals his co-creative connection to the Logos by bringing into existence places previously nonexistent.

The linear historian skews what happened in order to propagate the narrative of the dominant paradigm, no matter how profane. The mythopoet, though, writes into existence what should have happened, and so it does happen on some other—and far more important—plane of being. Therefore, mythopoïesis stands as a more philosophical and serious activity than historical writing.

Poets who cause loss of face are not usually desired as comrades, and are persecuted, if not by governments, then by the critics who claim to speak for the people. Friendship and estrangement, however, are the same for the mythopoet, for he sees no one as his enemy and all as potentially ready to hear his message of righteousness and atonement with the Logos. He feels secure in the arms of the One who goes before him. In this place of rest, the mythopoet finds both his peace and his voice as he seeks a rightwise existence in each moment of his life. As the Logos walks with him in the cool of the day, he stands in awe of that Presence and, with eternal gratitude, realizes his atonement with this selfsame Presence.

The mythopoet is called to magnanimous duty, and to shirk this calling is to run from communion with the Logos.

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Scáth Beorh writes stories permeated with themes of violence, brutality, anguish, punishment, magical realism, and blurred lines between this and the afterlife. Sometimes veiled and at times more overt sarcasm about Christian values and moral inconsistencies underline an ingenious design behind the entertaining tales. The quality of the writing and storytelling indicate an extremely well-informed and competent storyteller. Beorh is the author of the novel The Vampires Of Dreach Fola (JWK, 2016), the story collections Children & Other Wicked Things (JWK, 2013) and Classic Ghost Stories (Editor, Crucifixion Books, 2017), the poetic study Dark Sayings Of Old (JWK, 2013), and the novels The Witch Of Ballinascarty (Ghostley Books, 2017) and Pinprick (Ghostley Books, 2017). Forthcoming works include The Annotated Nephilim Field Guide, Ghostly: A Novel Of Postmodern Ireland, Uncle Treacle’s Bestiary, Hollywood & Vine, The Horror Of Rue Royale, and Stained Glass: Mythopoeic Storeys.

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johannes-verschlingt-das-buch-by-matthias-gerung-circa-1530-1532Editors’ Introduction: The following is the first in a two-part series of posts by guest contributor Scath Beorh on the topic of “Mythopoetics,” in which Beorh defines the basic categories involved. We’ll publish the second part, in which the role of the poet is considered in light of his or her true role as mythopoet, in about two weeks. Many thanks to Scath for his insights.

Mythopoetics is worked in three descending levels:

  • Theriake
  • Myth & Legend
  • Speculative Fiction

The highest level of Mythopoetics can be called Theriake, when myth and dynamism meet and combine in the storyteller. Since this ‘keeper of lore’ carries an undiluted theriake, or antidote, for the poison which fills and kills mankind, he becomes an inextinguishable light and healer for all who come into contact with him. His life is often transformed through martyrdom, though sometimes he leaves us through a natural death. On the rare occasion, he departs in toto into Eternity. Paradigms of such ‘living myths’ from the Hebrew tradition are Moses, Solomon, David, Enoch, Elijah, Elisha, Stephen, Peter, Paul, John the Beloved, John of Patmos, and, of course, Jesus of Nazareth and those who wrote of Him. Later we have, among many others, Patrick, Francis of Assisi, Gemma Galgani, and Thérèse of Lisieux. This level is perfect Logos/Rhema predication. The storytellers both live and speak theriake, those looking to the coming of the Christ less so than those experiencing the Christ firsthand. The theriake itself sets forth several things at once:

  1. The Who and What of the Source of Life
  2. Eternal promises made to all who hunger and thirst after righteousness
  3. Atonement, peace, and abiding for those who endure to the end

The next storytelling level is Myth & Legend, which most usually does not put the life of the storyteller in any danger.  Nevertheless, the stories told are considered lofty, and do have an enormous amount of theriake. Logos/Rhema predication in a secondary form is found at this level. Philosophy and Theology find their homes here. From the Greek tradition we have Aesop, who was an Ethiopian slave. From China we have Lao Tzu. Northern Europe gives us J. R. R. Tolkien, George Mackay Brown, Lord Dunsany, James Joyce, T. S. Eliot, and others. Norse and Irish myths fall into this category, as well as the myths and legends of many other world cultures. The storytellers often live the theriake while they speak it, but this is not always the case.

The next level is called Speculative Fiction and has been divided into three styles: Fantasy, Science Fiction, and Horror. Fantasy and Horror have been with us for millennia, and much of these two verge on being mythological. Sci-Fi is a recent addition ca. the 19th century. Allegorical Fantasy falls into the Spec-Fic category. Ray Bradbury is a master of Spec-Fic. The three styles, or genres, work with the feelings and emotions of wonder, terror, and horror… and generally ask one or more of the questions How, Why, What, Who, When, and Where. Ghost Stories additionally give us our forgotten histories as well as frightening glimpses into spiritual realms unclean or beneath divine judgment. At times the storytellers carry antidote, and when they do, sometimes they live the theriake while they speak it, but this is a rarity. Most fantastic writ is not mythopoetic.

Part two can be found here.

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Scáth Beorh writes stories permeated with themes of violence, brutality, anguish, punishment, magical realism, and blurred lines between this and the afterlife. Sometimes veiled and at times more overt sarcasm about Christian values and moral inconsistencies underline an ingenious design behind the entertaining tales. The quality of the writing and storytelling indicate an extremely well-informed and competent storyteller. Beorh is the author of the novel The Vampires Of Dreach Fola (JWK, 2016), the story collections Children & Other Wicked Things (JWK, 2013) and Classic Ghost Stories (Editor, Crucifixion Books, 2017), the poetic study Dark Sayings Of Old (JWK, 2013), and the novels The Witch Of Ballinascarty (Ghostley Books, 2017) and Pinprick (Ghostley Books, 2017). Forthcoming works include The Annotated Nephilim Field Guide, Ghostly: A Novel Of Postmodern Ireland, Uncle Treacle’s Bestiary, Hollywood & Vine, The Horror Of Rue Royale, and Stained Glass: Mythopoeic Storeys.

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Each of the six one-line poems presented in Vol. IV of Contra Equus Niveus serve as individual facets comprising a larger whole, just as individual cubes construct a hypercube and thus transcend physical representation. Our focus was on the cube and its evolution, beginning with the cross, as a basis for presenting the work of six poets. In a way, Vol. IV argues that, like poetry itself, the cube’s very form conveys a longing for greater dimensionality—beyond the shadows and colors cast by the sun of this realm. These six rays (it is our hope) converge into a brighter illumination, a gesture toward the geometries of even greater mysteries…

The whole, entitled Hypercube, is a brief sensorial digression, evenly weighted on six equal planes from which the imagery emerges and coexists, becoming greater than the sum of its parts. It is as if each side were rising out of the hazy drift that inhabits the first square. From there the poem discovers accidental dualities and contemplates the ocean until, at its closing plane, the face of time reveals to us its forever-disquietude. The poem’s sequence dissolves as the cube is erected and chance overtakes the order of each line’s appearance, as a seeming nod of recognition to the unsolvable nature of the greater mysteries…

Hexagon Press would like to thank each of the participating writers for their contributions, without whom, our concept would never have been granted its form.


The Editors,
Hexagon Press


James Bradley & Brittany Ham live and write and have their being in San Francisco, CA.

Marcella Durand’s chapbook, Rays of the Shadow, a collection of interlinked poems based on the alexandrine, is forthcoming this February from Tent Editions. Another chapbook, The Garden of M., translated by Olivier Brossard into French, will be published in a bilingual edition this December by Joca Seria Editions. She is currently a mentor in the Poetry Project’s Emerge-Surface-Be program and is translating Michele Metail’s book-length poem, Les horizons du sol (Earth’s Horizons).

Les Gottesman’s poems have appeared in several publications in print and online. He is the editor if Omerta Publications in San Francisco.

Ayaz Daryl Nielsen, veteran, hospice nurse, ex-roughneck (as on oil rigs) lives in Longmont, Colorado, USA. He is the editor of Bear Creek Haiku (26+ years/135+ issues) with poetry published worldwide.

Stuart Jay Silverman is an east coast expatriate retired from college/university teaching, He spends his home life in Hot Springs, Arkansas, and Chicago, Illinois. He has one book, The Complete Lost Poems: A Selection, and over 500 published poems in his quiver, which quivers too much and too often.

Bruce Thompson has a Ph.D. in philosophy and teaches philosophy at Palomar College on a more or less regular basis. He supported himself through college as a professional puppeteer and his shows included several tales of Robin Hood, St. George and the Dragon, and stories taken from fairy tale collections. He is a relatively well-known fixture at northern San Diego county open mic poetry readings and while he no longer performs with puppets professionally, he recently maintained a booth at the San Diego Makers’ Fair, where he gave instructions on the art of making puppets.

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Free copies of CONTRA EQUUS NIVEUS Vol. IV will soon be available at Adobe Books + Arts Cooperative, City Lights Bookstore, Dog Eared Books, Alley Cat Books, Modern Times Bookstore Collective, and Bound Together Anarchist Collective Bookstore in San Francisco. If you are outside of the Bay Area and would like a copy, write to us with your mailing address and we’ll send one free of charge, stock permitting.

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Hexagon Press will have a booth at the 8th annual “Poets & Writers: Live” fair held at the San Francisco Art Institute this weekend. Headlining the event will be numerous well-known speakers, none of whom shall be named here. The small press fair, of which the aforementioned Hexagon Press will be a part, takes place at:

Saturday, January 14, 2017

San Francisco Art Institute
800 Chestnut Street
San Francisco, CA, 94133 United States

A full program of the event can be found here.

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C O N T R A  E Q U U N I V E U S


The square is to the cube what the cube is to the hypercube, the form of which reaches beyond itself and steps into the fourth plane where we, beings incarnate in the third, cannot follow. Here lies the MYSTERY of the possibility of the transcendence of one’s own nature. In this spirit of mystery, Volume IV of Contra Equus Niveus will present six poetic works, each occupying one plane within the net of a six-sided polyhedron, a (three-dimensional) cube as yet un-enfolded taking the shape of a (two-dimensional) cross of six squares, the cube’s ancestral potentiality. We ask writers to submit single poetic lines only, aligned to this gesture, in the hope that your thought can become a brief illumination for one of these six sides.

The HYPERCUBE is a geometric phantasmagoria existing in this world only in theory. It is a mathematical expression of ulterior planes jutting outward and outside of our grasp. In the spiritual sense, it proceeds into the unknown and seeks to illustrate the great mysteries though patterned intersections and convergences. Geometry is a means of expressing the divine both in nature and beyond. Our focus is on the cube-rising of THE CROSS, and its ascendance into a realm beyond expression. The works selected for C.E.N. #4 will exist as six poems autonomous unto themselves, and also as a seventh, which constitutes the whole, titled “Hypercube.”

Submission Guidelines:

Poems of no more than one line in length, or an excerpt of no longer than one line from a larger work. To repeat: the basic unit of submission is one line of poetry, however various a line of poetry may be. Titles are not necessary. If submitting multiple lines, please number them for ease of reference.

Please include a short biographical statement with each submission.

Email all submissions as attachments (.doc or .pdf only) to hexagonpoetics@gmail.com.

Broadsheet Number Four will be printed in an addition of 200 individually numbered, cardstock sheets with instructions for forming the cube from the cross.


Hexagon Press

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Mouchette, furry angel, island of goodness in a sea of sin, passed away yesterday afternoon as a result of complications stemming from an enlarged heart.

Hexagon Press mourns the loss of a great and noble poet, one who effortlessly achieved that which we poets all strive for: a direct experiencing of the Divine through the transcendence of language, before this transient, sometimes bitter dream of life reaches its end.

Lord keep her. She will be missed.


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1 Despite the commotion outside I slept, and behold I dreamt a dream, and did see a man wearing a puppet on each hand, like unto a child’s hand puppets crafted for mirth and sport. But no mirth did I see as far as concerneth the man of whom I did dream. His face was as a masque of stern countenance, and his eyes were as two tiny pearls which did shine out from the holes of the masque-like face, which did hover in the darkness of the dream, for it was a dream set in darkness. Whether the man had no emotion at all, or a seething which spilleth over, I can say not.

2 The puppet on the left hand was a likeness of the goddess Isis, and that on the right hand a likeness of the Roman Catholic Pope, and this neither the current Pope, nor any one particular Pope who hath been, but THE POPE, in essence that very Petrus Romanus who is both all Popes and the culmination of popery. And the left hand of Isis did do battle with the right hand of the Pope, and that battle continued and I knew not which would prevail.

3 And lo! suddenly I did see that the puppets on each of the man’s hands did change, and became something other than that which they formerly were. And on the left hand I now saw a Chinese dragon, of ruby, and emerald, and gold, and on the right hand I saw a white-headed eagle clutching a rainbow serpent in its beak. And behold, the bejeweled dragon and the white-headed eagle did do battle, and that battle waxed fierce and I knew not which would prevail.

4 And I saw the puppets on each of the man’s hands did change yet again in the darkness of the dream, and became again something new. And on the left hand I saw a figure like one carved from ebony, even deepest coal, with no features, just the most bare attributes of mankind. And on the right hand I saw a figure like one carved from ivory, white as snow, and also with no features. And behold, the ebony did do battle with the ivory, and again, the victor was uncertain to me.

5 And I saw the puppets did change yet again! And the darkness swirled around the man like JUPITER’S FACE, which doth storm and rage though there be none on earth that heareth. On the left hand of the man I saw a woman of exaggerated bodily parts, for her womanly parts were swelled, her breasts and hips to bursting like overripe melons. And on the right hand of the man I saw a man with a massive manhood like an unsheathed sword. And using their swelled parts for weapons, the woman and the man did do battle, and whom of the twain should prevail I knew not.

6 And there were many more such battles, and each puppet of the right hand did have its counterpart upon the left hand, and each puppet of the left hand did have its counterpart upon the right hand. And I saw all such battles happening all of a concert, all at once, like a whirlwind of chaos and madness, for the man hath many hands, more than can be numbered. Everywhere battle raged.

7 And the man called forth a great bonfire from the darkness, for he hath many servants who do long to carry out his WILL. And the bonfire spat forth sulfur and ash into the darkness, even into the very air, and my eyes they did burn from the heat. Behold! the man began to fling each puppet into the bonfire one after the other, and each puppet did burn, and no puppet that formerly did battle was spared the burning. And who should have prevailed in each battle remaineth a mystery, for not even a single outcome of battle was made known before the puppets did burn. And the man with relish did inhale the smoke from the burning, as if it did intoxicate him to smell that aroma, which did issue forth from the burning of the puppets of his many hands.

8 Then, lo! a massive rock did come crashing through my window, and I was awakened…

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And if Caliban were to be caressed and delighted by his most inward desires, where would it lead him? Would the long, white fingers pulling back the canopy while he sleeps begin to drift from his dreams and cross into waking life? A billboard screen opens a portal to a tropical beach idealized in its detachment from nature. And the tumbling, humid breeze and the soft undulations of the tide are tuned exactly to the inner rage of the focus group by calibrating the advertisement according to their brainwave patterns. From there analysts formulate a carefully orchestrated series of triggered sensations that is then projected onto the sleeping Caliban.


The beach scene plays out in almost imperceptible slow motion, and it gives the swing of a sunbathing woman’s arm across her mate’s shoulder a more fluid, dream-like motion. The effect contributes to the seamless convergence of stimuli. Every aspect of the visual landscape exists in the 30 second lapse of unreal time and underlying it is a highly delicate web of symbols and signifiers, which induces the desired psychological and emotional responses from the sleeping Caliban. The height of the LED screen takes up four floors of corporate office space and is programmed to circulate through thirty segments contracted several years in advance.  In the particular cycle at hand, the beach scene is punctuated by a continuous display of a revolving white geometric logo that spins against a solid blue backdrop. The mind improvises the sound of the waves lapping onto the shore and not only consents, but actively participates in the surge.


The sleeping Caliban exists in a dialectic relationship of seduction and suppression and the market of the masses alternates between the two perspectives in such a way that each becomes more powerful with every turn. Caliban serves the nature of the market of illusion, which moves in all directions but constantly forward and this progression is as steady as his perpetual sleep, where his rage pours freely onto the endless space of dreams. And it is this consistent torment of seduction and suppression that feeds his rage, which has become the single most qualifying aspect of his identity, it is the emotional currency that surfaces in the form of sensations each time the imagination releases the cry of a gull as it flies over a white cabana and glides out of frame.


The sand surrounding the couple’s wood lounge chairs was like white skin leading up to the darkened traces of a previous wave. The scene slowly rolls back to a small circular table placed at equal distance between the two chairs and exactly at the midpoint between the length of the chairs. At the exact center of the table the fetish takes in the fullness of sun, a glass torso containing a liquid that glistens against the open sky like a citrine stone. Having reached the climax, Caliban’s rage is either wholly unleashed and ravenous or carefully guided by society’s reason. Both approaches circulate exactly 10 segments apart and over the course of the contractual year the same scene appears but with slight variations, few of which are non-subliminal. The segment appealing to Caliban’s desires depicts the female lead with bright red nail polish in February and a French manicure in July. The rolling drops of condensation range from one to three but the hierarchy of meaning remains intact and the reverie of paradise calls out to the sleeping Caliban.

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CEN 3 Cover The Neural Net:

They asked me to tell you what I saw: the White Horse galloping across a charred battlefield, its nostrils spewing sulphurous, pixelated flames, making hazily visible other worlds though the distortion of heat and unfurling ribbons of hyperbole. Its rider was all but invisible, and this despite his extreme and unmistakable ugliness, his malevolent, hostile-yet-empty eyes, his iron teeth clenched with the gravity of unquenchable hatred, his cold, dull skin. I didn’t see all this right away. His magick lies in the way in which those who would be his greatest foes tend to allow their gaze to slip off of him and onto the horse with its hypnotic, rhythmic hoof crashes, and from the horse to the smoke-filled static of the sky above.

There are algorithms that explain his cloak of invisibility. In truth, even when seen, the rider never appears as the same being twice. It was just this once, with the hardened exertion of a soldier believing he had stepped into his final battle, that I managed to see his face: he is a robot that dreams, and this, my dear comrades, is a reality the terror of which cannot lightly be shaken once it has been realized. As our eyes locked in psychic struggle I could feel myself being drawn into the feedback loop that artificially populates his inner life, that uploads into his dreamscapes visions of total conquest and dead gods, of a single monument (completely meaningless to our humanity’s eyes) placed in the center of the universe, surrounded by infinite nothingness to the very borderlands of creation.

They asked me to try my best to describe it: it was like a vortex of angels spiraling into the emptiness at the center of each isolated mind. This is what the robot dreams. This is what I saw in the rider’s eyes in those horrible, near-endless seconds on that accursed battlefield.

How I survived is another tale, one that perhaps I’ll tell another time, when I’m ready…

Dear friends, have courage: I did survive! Despite our terror, we will win, because our souls are the images of God, while the robot has merely images.


An Anonymous Soldier
The Editors,
Hexagon Press


Ric Carfagna was born and educated in Boston Massachusetts. He is the author of numerous collections of poetry, most recently: Symphonies Nos. 5, & 9 published by White Sky Books. Symphony X (sequence of finalities) is due out this year from Creaky Plough Press. His poetry has evolved from the early radical experiments of his first two books, Confluential Trajectories and Porchcat Nadir, to the unsettling existential mosaics of his multi-book project Notes On NonExistence. Ric lives in rural central Massachusetts with his wife, cellist Mary Carfagna and daughters, Emilia and Aria.

Kurt Cline is Associate Professor of English and World Comparative Literature, National Taipei University of Technology. His full-length book of poetry, Voyage to the Sun, was published by Boston Poet Press in 2008. Poems and stories have appeared, most recently, in BlazeVOX, Danse Macabre, The Tule Review, Mission at 10th, Wilderness House Literary Review, HuesoLoco, Apocrypha and Abstractions, Black Scat, and Clockwise Cat. Scholarly articles have appeared in Glimpse; Anthropology of Consciousness; Concentric; Beatdom Literary Journal; and Comparative Civilizations and Cultures.

Stuart Cooke’s next collection of poems, Opera, is forthcoming from Five Islands Press. He lectures in creative writing and literary studies at Griffith University.

Stuart Jay Silverman, an east coast expatriate retired from college/university teaching, divides his time between Hot Springs, Arkansas. and Chicago, Illinois. Some 500 of his poems/translations appear in 100+ magazines and anthologies here and abroad. Hawk Publishing Group published his The Complete Lost Poems: A Selection. Feeling that Parnassus has no preference for free verse vs. formal, or the other way, he writes both. He subscribes to the theory that poetry today is mostly a reeking bed of narcissistic self-display and, so, tries to make his poetry the creation and exploration of imagined worlds, or real worlds made into substrata on which the imagination can build new and varied structures.

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Free copies of CONTRA EQUUS NIVEUS Vol. III will soon be available at Adobe Books + Arts Cooperative, City Lights Bookstore, Dog Eared Books, Alley Cat Books, Modern Times Bookstore Collective, and Bound Together Anarchist Collective Bookstore in San Francisco. If you are outside of the Bay Area and would like a copy, write to us with your mailing address and we’ll send one free of charge, stock permitting.

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Thanks to all
who submitted.
More information
to follow.

-The Editors

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● C O N T R A  E Q U U S  N I V E U S ●

“The Neural Net”


Please consult first: G*****’s Inceptionism Project

I once heard of a woman who was blind and of stately rank, who wore a fine mesh of sense receptors latticed within the delicate weave of the fabric. And it allowed her to walk freely, without guide or implement, save the shining coat itself, which she wore atop all her costumes. And this veil of networked stimuli guided her through the many hallways she walked along and the many rooms through which she came and went, and her attendants always walked some ways behind her so that the folds of her skirt could graze the width of the corridors.

And the body of the woman is like the body of the machine, that is, the naked processing core existing as it was when it was first created. And with this fragile body there is much nurturing and adjusting of its network parameters in preparation for the gift of imagination. Upon this core the architect constructs a highly elaborate, metaphysical structure of discernment and interpretation that is made up of many layers, so that the machine can search within itself and build floating castles from pure static. The images rise out of these neural networks, which are like the Blakean spheres of imagination that lead to ideal forms and pure understanding. At each tier, more and more symbols emerge and stretch as far as they can go, until they pass into another realm and so on, upward into the heavens.

For the third issue of Contra Equus Niveus, Hexagon Press asks its audience to consider the grounds from which these spheres arise, and the many invisible layers of the neural net that allow the symbol to exercise its purpose—in the eyes of the Symbolists, to be a bridge between the real and the mystic realms. In the cold narrative of technological progress, what does it mean to reach such heights when there is no God to greet you? We ask that submitters take what they will out of this, just as the computer has been programmed to run on an interpretative feedback loop, passing through more and more of these neural nets.

C.E.N. #3 is dedicated to the rise of the programmed imagination, with its own unique reach that is limited, not by spiritual forces, but by the will of the finite architect in terms of both his ability as creator and the capability of the machine itself. The neural nets expand and contract at the architect’s will, though its potentiality becomes part of the colossus of technological progress, like a tributary flowing into the ocean. The Day of the Lord is being replaced with the day of the singularity as the computer embarks on what Harold Bloom coined “the Romantic vision quest.” He states: “the poet’s solitude becomes a quest for a finite and measured object of desire which shall yet encompass in itself the beauty and truth of the infinite and unmeasured conceptions of the poet.”

Submission Guidelines:

Up to three poems, no more than one page each.

Up to three prose pieces, no more than 300 words each.

Please include a short biographical statement with each submission.

Email all submissions as attachments (.doc or .pdf only) to hexagonpoetics@gmail.com.

Broadsheet Number Three will be printed in an addition of 200 individually numbered, cardstock sheets. Due to space limitations and layout, shorter works are preferred.


Hexagon Press

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