Mama Grande Issue 3
milesreilly: Mama Grande Press is a online magazine gnawing on Horror and Magical Realism. Mama Grande eats written, visual, audio, video art. all submissions to firstname.lastname@example.org
MAMA GRANDE LACES UP
http://issuu.com/mama_grande/docs/mamagrande2 Thank you Most Gross Mama for your art.
Julia & The Boy in the Blue Jumper
The Boy in the Blue Jumper Part 1 of the Sea Stories The twins were a two step thing which took their mother much music to learn. But for all this, they hated her, and for a time this was enough because she loved around them and in all their broken fingernails and hair left in garden dirt. But like a tap tap tapping on their mother’s head, as space filled up around them she heard less and less...
Moonshine Every twenty-eight days, when the Moon had turned her face to the stars to nap after a long month of watching over us, we would throw a party in town. We would light a big bonfire in the square and dance and keep each other up all night, then sneak into bed before the sun could see who had made such a mess. But there was one Dark Night when a young man who, having no interest in women...
Set Opinion The sky is milk white and when I was younger My mother fed it to me in baby bottles. Now I sit at my desk in the classroom, seem quite ordinarily, Uniformly like everyone else Who sits listening with one ear for the bell, The views from the windows are purple hills and A clouded sky, quite ordinary, as if painted On a wall, The white light lands on the surface of the Desks as always...
Our Lady of the Worms
Our Lady of the Worms Within two weeks of entering the circle, I was given a role in a ritual surrounding you. I began to call myself ‘Our Lady of The Worms’. I would kneel beside your tiny body, your head hidden by a mound of earth and twigs. In preparation for you being in this position, I had another, more minor role. An afterthought role: to cover all around your eyes in kohl....
Turn & Charles Baudelaire's Spaceship
Everywhere I Turn 1 My sister falls out of a tree and cracks her skulls open and the ravens swoop down and mix omelettes out of her spilled brains and cast their dark shadows over her split face. 2 My brothers form an orderly queue to take turns putting their heads in the fire. They take off their aprons and their shoes and they jump in leaving me standing here warming my hands by the...
Martha Daly transcends the line between art wanker and pest. Does a tumble im-marthadaly.tumblr.com
The Man Who Was Bones
As he looked around him, standing at the photocopier as he was, he couldn’t help but notice that while his skin remained his own as did his organs and his mind there was something else on top of him that prevented his mind from controlling his body. It was another layer of skin, identical to his own, but floating about a millimetre or so, most likely much less, above his own skin and his own...