new writing

An Excerpt from “The Meteorologist” by Olaf Kroneman

NEW FICTION

One of the pleasures of being a family physician was watching people grow and develop. I tried to help them along the way from cradle to adulthood and the grave. They have given much back to me. I have learned from them. I got meaning.

I learned that people with autism sometimes are blessed with special gifts. They used uncharted areas of the brain to amaze and fascinate.

Sarah taught me about the weather. She focused on the highs and lows of the day. She could predict it. I was not sure how she did it. I suspect it had something to do with her innate sensitivity to circadian rhythms, bariatric pressure, or the phases of the moon or something, but her predictions were so accurate that the local weatherperson would call her to confirm and compare notes before going on TV with a forecast.

Her reputation spread until all three local networks consulted with Sarah before going on air.

Sarah would put her hands on the window and, through touch, would divine temperature and humidity. She was correct. I tried to do it. I was always wrong. I functioned poorly in her world.

COMING SOON TO NEW POP LIT!

An Excerpt from “What Does It Cost to Be Civil?” by Tom Ray

NEW FICTION

As they started out of the driveway for their regular morning walk Albert said, “That looks like the car that followed us yesterday.” It was parked up the street in the direction they headed. Elaine slowed her pace.

“Come on, keep going,” he said, taking his phone from his pocket.

As they got closer Albert could make out a man behind the wheel, although the tinted windshield kept him from getting a good look. When he raised his phone to take a picture the car drove off. 

Elaine said, “What does he want?”

“I don’t know. Don’t worry about it. If we need to, we can run him down from his license plate number.”

A few days later as they lunched on the patio of a restaurant, Albert saw the blue Malibu circling the parking lot. 

“There’s that son of a bitch who’s been following us.”

COMING SOON TO NEW POP LIT!

An Excerpt from “The Memorial” by Brent King

NEW FICTION ALERT

He came because he had a “lump” at the injection site. I finally got him to pull his pants down, after I offered the usual bribe, turkey sandwich and a fruit cup, and I saw it immediately, an arterial pseudoaneurysm as big and red as a fresh plum. He missed the vein and damaged the wall of the artery. I touched it as gently as I could, and felt the blood pulsing through my gloves before he shoved my hand away.

“That fuckin’ hurts, man.”

“Look, Tim,” I said, hoping to scare him just enough to make him take it seriously, “you’ve got a weak spot in the wall of your femoral artery. It could rupture at any moment. If it does you’ll bleed out in a few minutes. I need to get an ultrasound of it and get the vascular surgeons to see you. I think you’re going to need an operation.”

“Just give me something for the fuckin’ pain,” he said, “and I want another san-which.”

I knew I couldn’t give Tim a sandwich. The surgeons were going to be mad enough about the first one, but I knew him well enough to know it wasn’t the time to explain or argue. That could wait until we figured out what to do. But Tim had a new nurse that day, and she didn’t know him, hadn’t learned how to redirect him when he started making demands. So, when he asked for ginger ale and she told him, in a matter-of-fact way, that we didn’t have any, he said “Fuck you, bitch.” He tore off his hospital gown and threw it at her. Then he stormed out of the ER, cursing us all the way to the door.

COMING SOON to New Pop Lit!

“Tide” by Ken Kakareka

NEW POETRY

(c/o thespruce.com)

i was
sitting
underneath
a great
big
avocado tree
throwing a
pity party,
drinkin
& thinkin
what’s the
point?
when one
dropped
& clunk me
square on
the noggin.
i looked
around
startled:
who else
saw that?
no one!
it was
a sign
from god.
then
a sexy woman
and her
beautiful dog
walked by
smiling
at me.
my god!
another
sign –
how quickly
the tide
can turn!

Ken Kakareka’s latest novel is Summer of Irresponsibility (Alien Buddha Press, 2023). His words have appeared or are on their way in numerous rags including Gargoyle Magazine, The Gorko Gazette, and A Thin Slice of Anxiety. A list of selected publications can be found at kenkakareka.com.

“Today’s Poetry Scene” by Brian Pilling

NEW POETRY

(photo c/o ctvnews.ca)

If you’re reading this poem, be sure to use the promo code: Percy
Shelley, which entitles you to a free lunch at the prestigious
Rainbow Room, high atop Rockefeller Center. Be sure to tip the
Russian-speaking maître d’ with a crisp green Andrew Jackson.
From your table hob-nob with the mega yacht captains who list
and lean to the right of you. If you haven’t yet, please note this
poem’s lack of slant and internal rhyme, the lack of line breaks,
and the small print—alcoholic beverages not included. But
foremost, please alert your server to any allergies, particularly to
the mixing of politics, religion, and art.

XXX

Brian Pilling has been published in The Main Street Rag, The Berkshire Review, Down In The Dirt, The Droplet Journal, Missive Magazine, and other literary journals. His chapbook The Poet’s Struggle is published by Bottlecap Press. Brian is a recent winner in The Cape Cod Times poetry contest. His previous appearance at Fast Pop Lit was here.

An Excerpt from “Straight and Narrow” by Joshua Vigil

A strip of light fell over a face I now saw was stretched tight from a billion surgeries. Her lips were plump with filler. Hair held in a loose bun the color of gold, fried into a delicate, brittle state. Her skin was a shade of varnished wood—perhaps beech? Looking at the balls of sweat that formed and rolled down her chest, I worried her tanning job would run and spoil the perfectly white rug I rubbed my toes into. I still value life, I said. Even if it ain’t always worth living. The struggle is what keeps me alive.

It sounds like you enjoy your poverty, she said, folding her arms into her chest. She was, despite or because of Dr. Whozit’s work, gorgeous—but I liked women in extremes.

Money talks, wealth whispers.

Shouldn’t that make you silent? 

What?

She sighed, dropping her arms to her sides. I want you to shoot me, she said, taking a step closer, slinging forward the scent of vanilla cupcakes fresh out of the oven. Her mouth was swimming in sweet gloss. Her cheeks coated with powders. Beneath it all, of course, I could see age and its cracks. We all had those. Not even Dr. Whozit could fully erase life’s faint fissures. That’s all, she said. You aim it into my chest, bang. Then we’re done. You walk away with $500.

Then: You won’t miss, she said.

But what if I do?

Coming Soon to New Pop Lit!

Why Fast Pop?


Because we want to change things up as we wait for the AI Chatbot gimmick to play itself out– hordes of simple-minded tech suckers-with-gadgets posing as artists and writers.

We want writing that’s faster to post and faster to read.

We hope to eventually have regular contributors along with ourselves. Maybe even invited Guest Stars, a la old TV series.

The writing should be different, but not difficult. Quirky and/or entertaining. This blog will have more variety in presentation and writing than the numerous too-long stodgy Substack formal essays currently inflicted on readers.

Fast Pop will be possibly a supplement to our main site and possibly a replacement for it. Who knows? We might go offline total analog total anarchy in a week, so disgusted are both of us right now by the insanities of technology.

“A desperate measure,” you say. Maybe! But we’re going to try a series of new measures and all kinds of new writing– mixed with commentary and fragmented rants– as a way to break the stultifying logjam calling itself literature today.