The Spirit of Dreamland

MJG Theme Parks, Zine 1 Comment

Several months ago now I was contacted by a reader of my haikyo book, Ruins of the Rising Sun (now retitled Japan in Ruins), who let me know that it, along with my website, had really meant a lot to her. Now, as a writer and photographer, that really meant a lot to me. Reaching out through words and photos was a huge part of not only why I wrote that book, but also why I wrote all the individual posts on this site that contributed to it. So, I wrote back, letting her know how touched I was by …

Mack’s Kids

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by Michael Brown “I had a life once,” the trucker said pushing away the unfinished food on his plate. He downed the coffee. He ate late in diners. Slept in his truck or in motel rooms. Hazards of his occupation. “Why so sad tonight?” Cherise said, pouring another cup. “Maybe I’m thinking about my ex a little too much lately.” Truth was he could not stop himself thinking about her these days. After hauling another load of farm products from the midwest to the east coast Mack had returned to Plainsville drawn by what, he could not quite say. He …

The Friend Catcher

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by Paul D. Brazill The morning after Charlotte killed her father, the air tasted like lead and the sky was gun metal grey. She stared out of the window of her East London flat, barely focusing on the rows of concrete blocks being smudged by the Autumn rain. The ensuing days of gloom collided with weeks and the weeks crashed into months. And then it was Spring.

Willow’s Cross

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By Mari Mitchell. My name is Willow. I do not look, or feel like a Willow.. Willows are statuesque; they should be graceful and ethereal. I resemble Mrs. Potato Head. I have an older stepbrother named Patrick. He does not look like a Patrick either, more like Jack Skellington only with more hair and flesh. Everyone knows that Patricks have red hair, freckles and should be short. I do not think our parents are very good at naming things.. We are five years apart in age and from different planets. I of course am from Earth and he is from …

The Devil at Your Heels

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by Robert Mammone The tick tick tick of the car’s cooling engine dragged Arthur back to his surroundings with a rush. The sky was cornflower blue, the only movement a honking arrow of geese skirting the horizon. He squinted against the bright summer light, his face cooled by a gentle breeze that disturbed the smoke hazing the air. A fly crawled across his face, tasted the sweat beading on his skin, before he swatted it away. He looked down at his hand resting on the hood of his car. He felt the heat bite deep into his hand, the pain …

Levitation Town

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by Michael Colangelo Connor Mason is disappointed with the way that the makeup kit has turned out. He stares into his mother’s boudoir mirror and compares his face to that of the monster’s face on the discarded box. He looks nothing like the picture advertised. In fact, he still looks like himself, just with ugly blotches of green and brown patterned on his skin. The kit was a rip-off. He has ordered things from the back pages of comic books before and they have all been failures. If they even show up at all, that is. They are usually nothing …

We’re Only Trying to Help You

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by A.K. Sykora. “Our children live in France,” plump Algernon volunteered. Snug at her faux-marble desk, the heavy-shouldered director studied him. “Have they been notified?” “Yes, I called the twins as soon as poor Mildred got certified.” “And you?” “I didn’t want to leave her,” he said blandly. “We’ve been married thirty-two years.” Hunched on the bench beside him, Mildred studied the ceiling’s lo-burn bulb, and her silvery mouthpatch twitched. “You’re very generous, Mr. Shipley. Few adults arrive at the home attended. Mildred, you should be grateful.” The gaunt, grey-haired prisoner made a choking noise. Image from here.