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A Beautifully Epic Review of Heavy Mental Written By the Glorious Candice Louisa Daquin

Heavy Mental Kindra M. Austin Reviewed by Candice Louisa Daquin So, here’s how you know something blows your mind. You’re not feeling it. You’re not feeling poetry, writing, literature, people publishing books, publishing, none of it. You are drained. You’ve read and edited and reviewed so much that you’re spent. A good person asks you

Heavy Mental: an advanced review from Nicole Lyons, author of The Lithium Chronicles Vol. I & II

“Two new lungs inflate within my beaten chest. I watch the rise and fall; my eyes are like an infant’s, opened for the first time, and I want to see.” Kindra M. Austin, The Rise and Fall “You don’t like what these eyes reflect, and I’m the one who disintegrates.” Kindra M. Austin, Disintegration “The

The Eagles

You’d always loved The Eagles. I recall listening to their albums by warm, dim light while you rearranged the living room furniture, or cooked a late meal. Whenever I hear The Eagles, I smell the smoldering blend of your menthol tobacco and spiced rose incense. And I can hear you singing along to your favorite

Let’s Play Pretend

I’ve never let my imagination run away and out of my control; even as a child, I kept my personal fantasies realistic. I didn’t pretend I was a magician, or that a unicorn grazed in my backyard; and I don’t recall ever having an imaginary friend. Playing pretend with my friends was always a chore

Rotting Penis Disease

Memories are just fragments of film. It’s odd, some of the events our brains retain, be they home movies, or pure fiction–intricate fabrications focused tighter and tighter over time. The power of suggestion is strong, indeed. My mother is one of those story tellers who believes in the fables she’s invented, says my dad. I

Wishing for Death: 2

I knew for certain I was pregnant three months before my eighteenth birthday; I was a high school senior. I wanted to die. Or at least I wanted her to die, though I couldn’t show up for the abortion my step-mother had arranged. I just couldn’t bring myself to take an active part in the

Wishing For Death: 1

Understand me. I wished him dead. I did have half a mind to kill him once, with a cast iron skillet, caught up in the white-hot frenzy. I was fourteen years old, and convinced I was prepared to murder the man choking my mother in the kitchen while a beef roast baked in the oven.

Trailerparkal Tendencies (continued)

My mother met an over-the-road trucker named Ken, who moonlighted as a fauxy cowboy. She thought he looked like Burt Reynolds; Smokey and the Bandit, eternally scarred. In the words of Buford T. Justice, “Suuummm-bitch!” Worse though, he pissed all over one of the greatest westerns ever filmed, Tombstone, with his imitation Doc Holliday. “I’m your Hunkel-berry,”

Trailerparkal Tendencies

T loves Kindra He spray painted the words on the side of a random shed. Fluorescent pink screamed against green corrugated metal. A little ginger bitch who lived in a goldenrod trailer saw the declaration, and she promptly told my mother. This girl’s nickname was Saginaw News, because too often you didn’t even know your own goddamned