The new issue of Faraway is online, featuring dozens of pieces by many new authors.  Click on the titles below to read the individual stories or poems, or click here to view the issue as a whole.

On the Other Promontory by Davide Trame

Winter Passage For Billy Collins by Michael K. Gause

Dwindling Times and Burden by Gary Beck

A Work in Progress by Benjamin Nardolilli with artwork by Travis Jeffords

Paramecium by S.P. Flannery

Her Shunted Complexion by Ray Succre with photo by James Berkshire

Beyond Organic Groceries by Elizabeth Kate Switaj

“Behold I Am Oblivion” by Terence Kuch

Titian on His Journey Home by Davide Trame

The Book Review by David Kentner

A Family Matter by Josh Mitchell with photos by Atina Thorning

Manic is the Dark Night by Michael K. Johnson

Dwellings by Luigi Monteferrante

The Whole History of Art by William Doreski

Can I Get a Witness by Eric McKinley

Betty With the Peacock by Willow Healy

Fading Flurries by Sean Wiebe

? by Jeff Hendrickson

RedYellowRed by Katie Rutherford

Conceptual Conflict by Felino Soriano

Spirit Faces by William Doreski

Roy Flint, Circa 1988 by Jen Conley

Venge by S.P. Flannery

Smack! by James Berkshire

The Silent Signs by Olga Zilberbourg with artwork by Gay Degani

Some Dark Blue by Beth Mathison

Coming to America by Shane Ryan Bailey with L.A. Harvest by James Berkshire

Let the Dead Bury Their Dead by Mark Konkel
New Grass by Michael K. Gause

These things always seem to take longer than anticipated. A word on the process: Our pet chimp Dimba solicits short stories, poems, and artwork from his cage at the company fortress in Montclair, California.  Accepted pieces are then shipped through a series of tubes to his brother’s underground log cabin in Montpelier, Vermont. His brother uses scotch tape and elbow grease in his spare time to assemble the various and sundry pieces into something marginally acceptable for mass digestion. Sometimes an ocean liner is hired to ship material to the chimp’s cousin, who lives in a big wooden shoe in Norway and has more and better digital skills.

The first two issues of this publication were profoundly and embarrassingly amateur hour (still, my favorite bit out of everything we’ve done is the first poem from the first issue). With Vol 1, Issue 3 we started working thematically with varying levels of success. E.g., Vol. 1 Iss. 3 featured birds and trees…um…for no particular reason. Volume 2 Issue 1 was broken up by the 4 seasons and had a cool cover. Volume 2 Issue 2 had a victorian theme, complete with fake ads that i think turned out pretty good.

Since Vol. 2 Iss. 2 took a bit of effort we tried to do something simpler with this one: i had always liked the title of the Nine Inch Nails song “The Line Begins to Blur”. what if we used kind of a Mondrian / straight lines theme that gradually became more blurred, curved, etc? It had a certain kind of symbolism and resemblance to daily experiences. Easy!

4 months later the current issue is on your screen.  I think we basically executed this concept, with Sean Wiebe’s last lines of the first half “…a new thought that has been slow in coming” leading to Jeff’s two explosive centerpieces and subsequently more abstract, natural images. This one might have been labored to death, but see what you think.

So, for next time, how about some suggestions for themes? Also- the next batch should plan on submitting their bios in 6 words or less.

Also, for best viewing: download and save, then view as “Two-up Continuous”.

In the meantime, our Contributors page has been fully updated to include all of the new writers, poets, and artists from this new issue.

Click on their names to read more about them: Sean Wiebe, Davide Trame, Atina Thorning, Elizabeth Kate Switaj, Ray Succre, Felino Soriano, Luigi Monteferrante, Eric McKinley, Terence Kuch, Mark Konkel, Michael Lee Johnson, Willow Healy, Michael K. Gause, S.P. Flannery, Jen Conley, James Berkshire, Gary Beck, and Shane Bailey.

First morning after labour

day, dank, dark, and dreary,

softened summer muscles,

swear, It’s too damn early

for back to school theories.

Replies a fall chill, in a shock

of sea air, that Dr. Bluespire’s

lecture begins at 8:30.

Barely conscious, choking

back simulation coffee

black, He can hear himself

contemplating infinite

regressions, the counter

intuitive paradoxes of anxious

freshman questions.

In total darkness, one foot

out the door, he reaches for

his  already outdated,

all-in-one accessory:

memory stick, pda, speed

stick, hairspray, man purse,

bus pass, smaller than

a shot glass.

Backpack bulging, cold

and sore, his shirt he tucks

in, more secure, everything

begins to spin, trudging closer

to apprehension, heart

rates soars with worried

expression, the first class

worse than first confession.