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HSTQ #1
HSTQ: Fall 2017
horror, adj: inspiring or creating loathing, aversion, etc.
sleaze, adj: contemptibly low, mean, or disreputable
trash, n: literary or artistic material of poor or inferior quality
Welcome to HST Quarterly, the curated collection from Horror, Sleaze and Trash.
sleaze, adj: contemptibly low, mean, or disreputable
trash, n: literary or artistic material of poor or inferior quality
Welcome to HST Quarterly, the curated collection from Horror, Sleaze and Trash.
- GenresPoetry
24 pages
Published September 22, 2017
About the author
Arthur Graham
73 books687 followersArthur Graham writes and edits for a living. Cofounder and former head editor of Rooster Republic Press. Current Editor in Chief of Horror Sleaze Trash.
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Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews
October 3, 2018
Good stuff here - these collections never disappoint.
Two of my favs were:
Birthday Wishes
Jay Levon
Once, long ago,
she asked what I wanted
for my birthday.
“Anal sex,” I replied
as a joke,
kind of.
“Maybe,” she said
and laughed,
kind of.
I think she gave me
a book.
It was kind of disappointing.
The Carrion Crew
John Grey
There is a dread
to the crows
perched on the upper branch.
They’re no threat to me
and yet they have
a talon-grip on my nerves.
a dark bead eye’s worth
of unfounded terror in their stare.
They’re waiting
for some poor creature
to dash across the asphalt
into the path of an oncoming car.
“You’re wasting your time,”
I tell them.
“I’m staying right here.
I liked this last one because I recall saying the same thing to some circling turkey vultures one day. Then I tripped, and almost fell, and if you ever want to hear a bone-chilling sound - it's the sound of vultures laughing.
As always - go see this Arthur Graham fella if you'd like a copy.
Two of my favs were:
Birthday Wishes
Jay Levon
Once, long ago,
she asked what I wanted
for my birthday.
“Anal sex,” I replied
as a joke,
kind of.
“Maybe,” she said
and laughed,
kind of.
I think she gave me
a book.
It was kind of disappointing.
The Carrion Crew
John Grey
There is a dread
to the crows
perched on the upper branch.
They’re no threat to me
and yet they have
a talon-grip on my nerves.
a dark bead eye’s worth
of unfounded terror in their stare.
They’re waiting
for some poor creature
to dash across the asphalt
into the path of an oncoming car.
“You’re wasting your time,”
I tell them.
“I’m staying right here.
I liked this last one because I recall saying the same thing to some circling turkey vultures one day. Then I tripped, and almost fell, and if you ever want to hear a bone-chilling sound - it's the sound of vultures laughing.
As always - go see this Arthur Graham fella if you'd like a copy.
November 22, 2017
I enjoyed these poems very much. I thought many of the writers managed to peel back the layers of smut and reveal the beating heart inside.
September 18, 2017
Arthur Graham does what no other editor, writer, or literary "arbiter of taste" would do: he attempts to repulse you before you crack HSTQ open. He warns you from the get-go: "Unless you like horror, sleaze and trash, Do Not Enter."
A funny way to market a literary journal--and make no mistake about it. This IS a literary journal, sans the stick-up-the-ass academic mandatory obtuseness and inaccessibility. It's almost like he's prepping for rejection by showing us the warts before he shows us HSTQ's dazzling, defiant smile.
In this case, I think he's brilliant. His taste runs toward the human underbelly of emotion and wit; the alleyway where you can score the best blow jobs and organic shrooms; the hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint with the best "Mole Poblano," and serves the finest tequila to people who know the difference.
He curates writers with voices that blow past convention. Corey White's "I write poetry" is deceptively simple, and at the same time, deep as f*ck, (are we allowed to write that? I'd better play it safe...) and you don't need to be sucking your Jimi Thang sativa/indica strain to find the depth, either. I can't help compare it to the academic poetry I read, and the only depth there is found in the poets' needs to attempt to convey depth through sanitized, wrung-out bar rags, it ends up being as tasteless as the latter and as obtuse as possible. If "obtuse" is your idea of depth? HSTQ isn't for you.
However, if you're able to see it, what's right in front of you, and stop; wait. Listen. It will gut-punch you in a short jab--just enough to leave you breathless, but not enough to make you double over and puke.
Jay Passer gives us stunning imagery in "The Criminal Element" that is both lyrical and the shit you find at the bottom of the can--real, and it smells, but it smells good in a way you can't explain, are too embarrassed to explain, so you don't.
B. Diehl gives is "Pre-teen Lust at a Trailer Park..." and captures the male sexual psyche in crass, brutal, and heartbreaking detail, simply within one moment of time. Vanessa De Largie in "Charitable" gives us the true sexual ruthlessness women possess but are too afraid to own. Aneka Brunssen in her "3 Seconds to Anal" uses shock value the way it should be used: without pretense, without hype, and with simple build-ups that lube us without numbing our minds.
Arthur wants to combine porn and poetry? Exxcuse my confusion, friend. I didn't realize there was ever a difference between the two. At least, not with the poetry I read and write.
Should you read this book? Up to you. Do you have the balls to read it? If you say "yes," I'd still recommend covering them as you read. As Mark Twain once wrote, "There's a difference between writing about holding a cat by its tail, and actually holding a cat by the tail." Or something. The point? Writing, reading and holding that f*cking cat? That's what real literature is supposed feel like when you write it and read it. Poetry, too. Anyone tells you differently? Do what they say so you can earn that A and get your MFA. Otherwise, come down into the sleaze, horror and trash. It gets you wet where you want, and keeps you dry where you need.
J.A. Carter-Winward
A funny way to market a literary journal--and make no mistake about it. This IS a literary journal, sans the stick-up-the-ass academic mandatory obtuseness and inaccessibility. It's almost like he's prepping for rejection by showing us the warts before he shows us HSTQ's dazzling, defiant smile.
In this case, I think he's brilliant. His taste runs toward the human underbelly of emotion and wit; the alleyway where you can score the best blow jobs and organic shrooms; the hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint with the best "Mole Poblano," and serves the finest tequila to people who know the difference.
He curates writers with voices that blow past convention. Corey White's "I write poetry" is deceptively simple, and at the same time, deep as f*ck, (are we allowed to write that? I'd better play it safe...) and you don't need to be sucking your Jimi Thang sativa/indica strain to find the depth, either. I can't help compare it to the academic poetry I read, and the only depth there is found in the poets' needs to attempt to convey depth through sanitized, wrung-out bar rags, it ends up being as tasteless as the latter and as obtuse as possible. If "obtuse" is your idea of depth? HSTQ isn't for you.
However, if you're able to see it, what's right in front of you, and stop; wait. Listen. It will gut-punch you in a short jab--just enough to leave you breathless, but not enough to make you double over and puke.
Jay Passer gives us stunning imagery in "The Criminal Element" that is both lyrical and the shit you find at the bottom of the can--real, and it smells, but it smells good in a way you can't explain, are too embarrassed to explain, so you don't.
B. Diehl gives is "Pre-teen Lust at a Trailer Park..." and captures the male sexual psyche in crass, brutal, and heartbreaking detail, simply within one moment of time. Vanessa De Largie in "Charitable" gives us the true sexual ruthlessness women possess but are too afraid to own. Aneka Brunssen in her "3 Seconds to Anal" uses shock value the way it should be used: without pretense, without hype, and with simple build-ups that lube us without numbing our minds.
Arthur wants to combine porn and poetry? Exxcuse my confusion, friend. I didn't realize there was ever a difference between the two. At least, not with the poetry I read and write.
Should you read this book? Up to you. Do you have the balls to read it? If you say "yes," I'd still recommend covering them as you read. As Mark Twain once wrote, "There's a difference between writing about holding a cat by its tail, and actually holding a cat by the tail." Or something. The point? Writing, reading and holding that f*cking cat? That's what real literature is supposed feel like when you write it and read it. Poetry, too. Anyone tells you differently? Do what they say so you can earn that A and get your MFA. Otherwise, come down into the sleaze, horror and trash. It gets you wet where you want, and keeps you dry where you need.
J.A. Carter-Winward
September 18, 2017
Plenty of dirty and funny moments, balanced by some with an emotional sincerity that struck a chord.
My favorites:
Dark Bars on Sunny Days by Jack Moody
These Boots by Justin Hyde
Tight by Casey Renee Kiser
And the Radio D.J. Won’t Quit Talking About the Beauty of the Sun by John Grochalski
The Question Game by Indi LaPlace
My favorites:
Dark Bars on Sunny Days by Jack Moody
These Boots by Justin Hyde
Tight by Casey Renee Kiser
And the Radio D.J. Won’t Quit Talking About the Beauty of the Sun by John Grochalski
The Question Game by Indi LaPlace
October 8, 2017
Grubby collection. These are really finding their dirty feet now. I feel with each new edition the balance is refined, this one in particular has a satisfying mingle of proclivities. These quarterlies are teasingly brief, and I have mixed feelings about that. I can sense these really shifting into defining what they do. Common filth for the reductive, but sprinkled with interesting toppings for those who want to shake out the lees.
September 18, 2017
Incredible to believe this series has reached it's first anniversary. Congrats to HSTQ. This is my favourite in the series so far, it is great to see Vanessa De Largie included, I been reading her stunning poems for a while now. I know of 11 of the poets here and they are all fun to read, some are scary, I am worried about Johnny Scarlotti, strange chap, I am more worried about me laughing at what he writes, he may have broken me.
Top writing, highly recommended by me and the voices in my head.
Top writing, highly recommended by me and the voices in my head.
September 26, 2017
Favorites in order: 'The Question Game' India LaPlace, 'Hiroshima' Ben John Smith, 'New Girl' Johnny Scarlotti, 'Old Time's Sake' A. Lynn Blumer, 'Awkward Preteen Lust' B. Diehl, 'Charitable' Vanessa DeLargie, 'Dark Bars on Sunny Days' Jack Moody. Excited to be a part of this awesome issue!!
November 14, 2017
pretty fire
November 8, 2017
It just keeps getting better. ❤️
January 6, 2019
So what happens when you have been reading Joseph Campbell and HSTQ at the same time?
Well first you have Arthur writing this in the intro: We know what we love, and we are open with it. We are not ashamed to live in that realm beyond hypocrisy, where the lofty concepts of feminism and sex positivity meet the baser impulses of our animal nature.
And then you have Campbell's take on Chrétien's poem, Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart and the adventure of the Perilous Bed:
A number of knights had to experience the perilous bed before getting access to a lady, and it works like this; You come into a room that’s absolutely empty, except in the middle of it is a bed on rollers. You are to come in dressed in your full armour – sword, spear, shield, all that heavy stuff- and get into bed. Well, as the knight approaches the bed, it shears away to one side. So he comes again, and it goes the other way. The knight finally thinks, “I’ve got to jump.” So with his full gear, he jumps into the bed, and as soon as he hits the bed, it starts bucking like a bronco all over the room, banging against the walls and all of that kind of thing, and then it stops. Then he’s told, ‘It’s not finished yet. Keep your armour on and keep your shield over yourself. ” And then arrows and crossbow bolts pummel him- bang, bang, bang, bang. Then a lion appears and attacks the knight, but he cuts off the lion’s feet, and the two of them end up lying there in a pool of blood. Only then do the ladies of the castle come in and see their knight, their saviour, lying there looking dead. One of the ladies takes a bit of ‘fur’ from her garment and puts it in front of his nose and it moves ever so slightly – he’s breathing, he’s alive. So they nurse him back to health.”
Reading HSTQ is the mythical equivalent of taking a ride on the Perilous Bed, but with a little bit of 'fur' under the nose after reading, you can still see my breath. I am alive and ready for the next adventure.
Well first you have Arthur writing this in the intro: We know what we love, and we are open with it. We are not ashamed to live in that realm beyond hypocrisy, where the lofty concepts of feminism and sex positivity meet the baser impulses of our animal nature.
And then you have Campbell's take on Chrétien's poem, Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart and the adventure of the Perilous Bed:
A number of knights had to experience the perilous bed before getting access to a lady, and it works like this; You come into a room that’s absolutely empty, except in the middle of it is a bed on rollers. You are to come in dressed in your full armour – sword, spear, shield, all that heavy stuff- and get into bed. Well, as the knight approaches the bed, it shears away to one side. So he comes again, and it goes the other way. The knight finally thinks, “I’ve got to jump.” So with his full gear, he jumps into the bed, and as soon as he hits the bed, it starts bucking like a bronco all over the room, banging against the walls and all of that kind of thing, and then it stops. Then he’s told, ‘It’s not finished yet. Keep your armour on and keep your shield over yourself. ” And then arrows and crossbow bolts pummel him- bang, bang, bang, bang. Then a lion appears and attacks the knight, but he cuts off the lion’s feet, and the two of them end up lying there in a pool of blood. Only then do the ladies of the castle come in and see their knight, their saviour, lying there looking dead. One of the ladies takes a bit of ‘fur’ from her garment and puts it in front of his nose and it moves ever so slightly – he’s breathing, he’s alive. So they nurse him back to health.”
Reading HSTQ is the mythical equivalent of taking a ride on the Perilous Bed, but with a little bit of 'fur' under the nose after reading, you can still see my breath. I am alive and ready for the next adventure.
October 21, 2018
My Advice
John Bennett
To young men:
die.
To young women:
calm down
there’s plenty
of old ones
left.
John Bennett
To young men:
die.
To young women:
calm down
there’s plenty
of old ones
left.
Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews