How would you describe a beautiful woman? The American media-complex puts forth its definition of female beauty, and shocker-alert, it is equated with money: Botox injections 600.00, boob jobs, 5-10,000.00, hair styling, well, I once watched a “behind the stars” type of show that said Victoria Beckham spent 50,000 on her hair per year. Sheesh. In the amount of characters it takes you to tweet (140), give us your definition of female beauty. Here Denise Duhamel explores this notion, taking scissors to prescriptions of beauty:

Fat Fashionista

O Gucci, Diesel, Calvin Klein, and your teeny garb.  Even you, frolicking Betsey Johnson. I saved two years to buy one of your dresses only to find that none of them fit. O Victoria Secret with your tiny panties that only stretch so far. O skinny jeans, halters, and bikinis. O Anne Klein, Versace, Guess, Ralph Lauren! I can only window shop unless I diet—and what would be the pleasure in that? O Marc Jacobs, Valentino, Dolce and Gabbana, Stella McCartney, let me tell you—there was a time when I had my own private designer, my grandmother Bertha Bourgeois and her aqua Singer.  Even when she worked from a Butterick pattern, she pinned the crepe paper to me first and made any adjustments. All my clothes were custom—I could be an apple, a pear, a turtle, any shape I wanted.  My designer didn’t care. I strutted the vinyl carpet runner that lead from her hallway to the living room wearing her latest creation.  Every season I picked my fabric and consulted with BB who took to it with chalk, her pinking sheers cutting along the bias.

Your job is to write a piece of flash fiction in 200 words or less based on one of the stanzas in Joe Hall’s poem from the 2013 edition of Ping-Pong here:

POTTING SHED

“The newlyweds will only see their wives

through the grillwork.” I kiss you

behind the ear in the mesh

Read More >

Welcome to the world of Lina ramona Vitkauskas’ poetic brain. Featured here is the winning poem for the inaugural poetry competition of Ping-Pong, journal of literature and arts published by the Henry Miller Memorial Library. The challenge here is to write an imitation of this beautiful piece. And thank-you Lina for playing along!

We Can Be Heroes
You are the rodent,

an open window.

A man is but a product of his thoughts.

Be regulated                but not homogenized.

You know the tightrope trick.

Everyone plays it like Slinky or derivatives.

Stretched out—but you cannot see

you. Read More >

L’Affaire de Dieu

Je mets ma chaussette dans ma chaussure de Dieu,

marche au travail sur l’eau

divine, je berce mes hanches de Dieu

aux Muddy Waters dans ma tête,

bleus comme la mer écartée.

Je suis

merde d’ours, pas plus, pas moins

je suis Ellla Fitzgerald dans la douche

shoobedowaa—dotdeetdeetdobedo

je fais bulles aux cheveux avec savon de Dieu

chaque mèche chante comme chorale

je me sens Dieu qui coule au bas de ma jambe

dans le tuyau d’écoulement en argent dans mon jardin de derrière

s’infiltre dans les racines

envoie en haut une pousse

je suis une collectionneuse pour Dieu

un pin Lodgepole

(on dira, «regardez comme elle grandit tant droit»)

je ferai passer mon assiette de pomme de pin,

la remplirai avec manzanita, pennyroyal, lupin

et l’offrirai à Dieu

où elle sera portée sur le vent

qui serra à une tornade

démolira ma maison enchaînée

me soufflera à l’endroit

où je trouverai mon bébé

endormi par le fleuve

sur un oreiller de roseau

en bavant la bave de Dieu

je le réveille alors que je l’essuie

et je suis

finie

avec cette affaire de Dieu.

© Maria Garcia Teutsch

Recently I asked my creative writing students to do this exercise: Begin by remembering a particular song and then say what you were doing the first time you heard that song. It helps if it’s one of your favorites. Here’s one of mine:

by Maria Garcia Teutsch

Many people whose opinion I admire say that Radiohead’s lyrics are weak. Not so, mon frère. Radiohead is composed of mad genius poets. Their lyrics do stand up on the page, though admittedly an entirely new form of language is created when joined with their music and Thom’s warbling. I chose “Idioteque” at random knowing I wanted something off of Kid A. There is an homage to Dadaist poetry on this album, and the band has admitted to using this method of cutting up lyrics and arranging the songs by drawing words out of a hat. As a poet and editor, I find this immensely satisfying. There is even a made up word in “Idioteque:” skwrking, at least in the lyrics I’ve found. Read More >

Dear Reader,
Once again you’re doing that thing that’s most important, reading this literary journal. Some smart people say that print journals are a thing of the past, but I say–as I listen to a blue vinyl Radiohead album–not so mon frère. Those of us who love paper, who love words, who love the crack of a spine will always reach for a book. Not to disparage all the multimedia at our fingertips. I have a teenage son, I know what’s up with all that stuff, and I love being able to slip a tiny electronic device into my carry-on when I’m flying all over this blue marble. Sometimes all I need is to read a poem by someone whose voice I need to hear that day on that island or on that train. Read More >

Dear Reader,

Thank you for picking up this magazine. Inside you will find a world of wonders. If you are like most people you will flick through and look at the art first. We are proud to feature gallery prints from iconic photographer Kim Weston. The art editor and I met Kim a few years ago at the Henry Miller Library over dinner, and have been trying to get his beautiful photographs in our magazine ever since. It is thanks to the dogged tenacity of River Tabor that we are able to feature work by an astounding member of the Weston dynasty. Read More >

Dear Reader,

If you are reading this you are already doing the thing most desperately needed by artists: supporting them. At the Henry Miller Memorial library we are dedicated to supporting free speech, enhancing our global dialogue through the arts, and maintaining a space where redwoods can continue to suck water from the air and live. Read More >

Dear Reader,

This issue marks our fourth offering of Ping-Pong. It is as singular as those in years’ past. We remain committed to publishing the best of what’s out there while maintaining our artistic bent. We publish those works embodying the spirit of Anaïs Nin and Henry Miller. We are also honoring the legacy of the Henry Miller Memorial Library which has as its raison d’etre a commitment to artists way out on the cliff’s edge. Read More >

Dear Reader,

I am finally, in 2009, full of that dopiest of emotions: hope.  That is not to say that the artists contained herein are offering you hope, though there is always something to hope for even when one finds oneself at the bottom of a steep, sheer-faced climb.  The honesty of these offerings creates a sense of something beautiful one can recognize, even if it’s the prism of an oil slick reflecting off a sea-tossed stone. Read More >