By butttub

Ghost Island is almost a magazine. It was formed by the accumulation of hardened lava from the eruptions of an oceanic volcano. It is a place where several contributors will post essays, links, and news updates. There is no definite rule for the kind of content posted, but certain themes will naturally emerge. The flora and fauna on Ghost Island have evolved in almost perfect isolation and so often are unrecognizable. There are too many superstitions to begin to explain it all now, but you should always walk with caution by the northern rim of the Island.

Ghost Island contributors often maintain their own blogs and will often cross-post general interest pieces on both this site and the home blog. The idea of Ghost Island is to create a space to act as a kind of clearinghouse or portal for the writings and thoughts of a small group of loosely connected individuals. Ghost Island was named for the mist that forms in shapes of dead popes, mitre and all.

Ghost Island may become the home of all kinds of ghosts, spectres, monsters, and spirits. It may also publish very strange things that will hide in the various caves and crevasses that abound on this little piece of volcanic rock. There are snakes here and colorful birds. Ghost Island may cross dimensions from the virtual to the physical. Ghost Island may start designing clothes. The point is, this is a wild and heavily forrested place and the weather is hard to predict.

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  12. January 10, 2010 at 3:24 am

    ‘Insolvania’ girls

    Third Winter/2032

    By Xeben Perhaps

    Justin shattered windows
    Just to hear them break,
    And after a long night out on the town
    With him, he would tell me he loved
    The math of it.

    Blake chopped wood
    Into tiny pieces with a razor
    Blade axe for his sculpture art involving a
    Rain forest.

    Rosewood climbed to the top
    Of a thousand year old tree in the rain forest,
    Precariously perched with the Orangutans in Heaven.

    Elizabeth did a little strip tease around
    the sewing machine on nights
    Like these.

    I first experienced Elizabeth’s grace
    Through a cluster of literature,
    She and Justin were putting out a little frequency
    (a download program distributed via Justin’s mathematics).
    She had an input cable running out of her
    detachable scalp when I first met her.
    Plugged into the main board,
    Justin sat around next to her, slamming Christmas
    Ornaments under his leather boots,
    laughter rising through and established crowd.

    Blake and Rosewood pointed her out to me
    from the tree sculpture we all perched in on Friday.
    When we met eyes, Liz seemed confused,
    her body so close to mine so suddenly,
    in each others arms in her bunk bed
    (sector three).
    Make up in our wisdom, make up in our wishes.

    Over the months It became apparent that
    I had been plugged into a simulation
    Sequence that the government here in
    ‘Insolvania’ had been testing out.
    Too many glitches were popping up
    When Liz and I went on dates to the park,
    all in the wrong places.
    And she and I broke into different channels
    (if she ever existed in the first place).
    She, a heavy handed simulation program
    being tested by the government,
    and me, a cold booth and a worn out frayed edge.

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