Literary Magazines Wolf Larsen Literary magazines have turned to Wolf Larsen's poems, novels, plays, and other works to give their readers a new, dynamic literature. Wolf Larsen has been published in over thirty literary magazines in countries around the world. These literary magazines include Aries, Ascent, Blue House, Erbacce (U.K.), Eotu Zine, Four Volts (U.K.), Kritya (India), Linkway (U.K.), Offeta Speciale (Italy), Other Voices, Pannus, Pegasus, Poetry Motel, Phantasmagoria, The Seventh Quarry (U.K.), Sirrose (Brazil), Spillway, Splizz (U.K.), Stray Dog, Unheard Words, and others.

Literary Magazines
Wolf Larsen

Spillway was one of the first literary magazines to publish Wolf Larsen. The following appeared in Spillway back in the summer of 1999.

From The Exclamation Point! by Wolf Larsen

(The Exclamation Point is a run-on sentence that is three hundred pages long. This is an avant-garde explosion in contemporary literature.)

I arrived at the Amsterdam train station which everyone had warned me

about with screeches of death terror across the universe echoing a million

times over and I walked outta the station with visions of hordes of smack

shooting cocaine freaked weirded out people out of some Charles Dickens

novel or Les Miserables play all rampaging at me at once and my arms

flailing about me helplessly like a piece of meat in a den of lions but all there

was was this nice lady asking me if I wanted to stay in a youth hostile and

being all pumped up on seething adrenaline I stared at her with the glare of

a million tanks and armaments flashing out of my eyes at the smallish nice

lady - what a jeeerk I felt like afterwards and AIDS is de?ath i?n m?y bo?dy

- and I reached a junction and there was a shattering war exploding therein the intersection between the tottering old city and the surrounding new bauhaus city - Bauhaus waiting to attack me and instill in me anxiety and alienation turning the earth into one big parking lot under a sun filling the entire sky - and the crowds shout for some red rum smack up their arm all the junkies running around in frenzied circles of

desperate need all over the streets crawling over buildings and looking

under the sky and through all the morass of walls and concrete for a shot up

the - spike - vein of that - spike - red rum smack - spike - up the - spike - up

the arm everyone wants to shoot a little death into them,

everyone wants to swallow a little death grab a little death smear

themselves in death stare at death highways roaring with death and so I

was sitting in a cafe surrounded by this thin long square of a room with its

walls painted with cracked and falling worlds exposing scenes

of maddening rushing crowds upon you and searchlights and flashing colors

and ... uh-oh ... no the people didn't turn into some freakish cubism of faces

parading about in a George Grosz kind of world mixed with neo-

expressionist shouting disturbing kind of oils, nor did my brain cave in with

explosions of thoughts pressing in on me like the massive grave the world issoon to be?, instead the hurricaneing world was moving inside my headexploding in exuberant gushes of pink and blue indigo with all my thoughts MY THOUGHTS OH MY GOD MY THOUGHTS and the entire threatening universe was burning and I could hear god laughing at me as I was thrown off the edge of the planet into the galaxy falling forever into black space screaming with my arms reaching out in terror to the nothing to grasp in the forever falling blackness of infinite space, perhaps it wasn't so much the cannabis as it was the cannabis unleashing all my natural insanity normally repressed from view scarcely repressed from view from the searing all-knowing open wide eyes at me in my

own paranoia in the crashing falling

room because I was afraid all my thoughts would leak out ... and all the

seats in that drowning room were filled with living replications of Jesus who

all would know what a child-molesting sever-your-head-and-put-it-in-a-

refrigerator kind of guy I am trying not to laugh hysterically uncontrollably

at the thought of it trying to bolt steel screwing bolts down into hard

armored plates over my conspicuous personality that was about to gush out

in a series Ludwig Meidner self-portraits and I was sitting there in the

coffee shop feeling that at any moment the colossal machines of war were

going to come crashing down on the human race beloooooooooowing their

way through the debris of shattered cities and rolling over dead bodies or

that the whole of squirming humanity would set upon each other in a wild

storm of primitive butchery and civilization would crack and whole entire

cities with all their skyscrapers and hulking factory buildings and

warehouses would all come crashing falling down on whole multitudes of

screaming people burying us in an avalanche of arms and legs and bleeding

torsos and heads with bullet holes through their skulls sort of like a nice day

in the park or a pleasant night spent sleeping on the New York City subway

or maybe in a dry doorway somewhere, I was drifting in pinks and light

blues out of that coffeeshop in Amsterdam cracking crumbling falling walls

entering my brain entering the eternal chaos and darkness of my mind

imagining all your corpses as sprawled out still lifes across the urban

landscapes of the world after the mushroom clouds loom over the horizon

Copright 1998 by Wolf Larsen

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Wolf Larsen is the writer and poet of avant-garde expression in contemporary literature published in literary magazines.

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Literary Magazines
Wolf Larsen (Larson)

Literary Magazines
Wolf Larsen (Larson)

literary magazines Wolf Larsen (Larson)