“I can rip just about anything in half.” I started with a sheet of vellum followed quickly by a slice of cheese. Neither feat garnered much acclaim, so I moved on to a quarter, a picnic basket, and finally a hardcover edition of War and Peace.

Spectators observed me like television screens …

“What about this here hog?”

The farmer pushed his way to the front of the crowd. He removed a choke-chain from the hog’s neck and kicked it in the shin. He kicked it again. The hog crept forward, glancing nervously over its shoulders. Occasionally it emitted a subdued oink.

I knelt and clicked my tongue. The hog came closer. I reached out my hand. It sniffed and licked my fingers.

I stood and circled the hog, gauging its distribution of poundage. Most of the weight appeared to be in its haunches, although its oversized head gave me second thoughts, and its pot-belly commanded my attention, too. I looked into the hog’s eyes. It oinked at me assertively.

I lifted the hog over my head and ripped it in half. Offal exploded across the sky like the pulp of screaming watermelons . . .

“My hog!” shouted the farmer, falling on the carcass. He struggled like a child to stuff the swine’s entrails back into its severed halves. “I loved this damned hog! It was a prize hog! God help me!”

The crowd became unruly, but their tempers weren’t beyond repair. Things didn’t really start to get out of hand until a slot technician dared me to rip his vending machine in half . . .

_______________________________________________

D. Harlan Wilson is the author of three collections of short fiction and a new science fiction novel, Dr. Identity, or, Farewell to Plaquedemia (Raw Dog Screaming Press 2007). His stories and essays have appeared in magazines, journals and anthologies throughout the world in several languages, and he is the editor-in-chief of The Dream People (www.dreampeople.org), a journal of Bizarro texts. For more information on Wilson and his work, visit his official website at D. Harlan Wilson.

Knut Hamsun gets His Stamp

One of the most invigorating feelings is being nowhere and everywhere. Parked on the side of the highway at midnight in the Badlands of South Dakota — reading a map by lighting strike — is being nowhere and everywhere. This is also true when online. Nothing competes with digital-based worldliness except — ahem — seeing the world. That’s why we say God bless the Interweb. It’s what keeps us frisky. Just look where we’ve visited today. It’s a veritable postcard spindle, spinning and bright with destinations and commentary from around the world. Norway knows how to forgive and forget — or remember. They’re doing both by issuing a stamp in honor of a Nazi-sympathizing Nobel Laureate. PEN has a new man at the helm, English booksellers are downright itchy with competition, and Jacket Copy says writing contests are a sham. But enter if you must, all ye swashbuckling writers. In our last leg, Slate has a special message: the radio came before computers. And from H-Net it’s good ole William Faulkner talking scratch about the Great Depression. Grab your hats, people. It’s a big world out there. — Kevin Murphy

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