Captain B

i once wrote a poem

i once wrote a poem
to a waitress
at a bar
i frequented

down on my luck one night
she gifted me
a beautiful and genuine
smile
i fell in love

she was already beautiful
but bestowing that smile
she became immaculate

she became my savior
goddess
and i prayed
to her as lover

i had a dream
she and i
were Christmas shopping

i told a friend
in confidence
he laughed and said
holding hands and
skipping stones, eh?

sarcasm aside
he’s a brother
and usually has my back
though there was one time
of questionable loyalty
with a disgruntled cabbie
but i’ve learned to forgive…

and so another night
my brother and i
returned to the bar

he’d been with
the night of
the apparition

the bar was packed
she saw me
and blessed me
another smile

nerves blurred my eyes
dried my mouth and shredded my gut
opportunity slipped past
neglected

all night i watched…
…and drank…

at bar close
i took a meager dollar
(pretty sure i had fives, tens, and twenties)
and wrote on it

the craziness you stir
in me
makes me want
to set fire to a couch

on the way out
i handed her
the defaced dollar and said
see you around

my brother
wanted to know
what i’d written

he just about pissed himself…

i second guessed myself
and stayed low to the ground
days passed
i wrote another poem
this one said clichéd things like
let Cupid’s aim be true
and
everyone here but you and me
is superfluous

when the day came for another round
i needed various rounds and near annihilation
before i could set foot in that place

the same partner in crime accompanied me
he said i was crazy
i didn’t argue

sitting at our usual spot
i was distraught
not to see her
anywhere around

i was down
and slid further with
each drink

then i saw her
she came down for stock
Jack Daniels.
they must have run out upstairs

she never worked upstairs
she must have been filling in

i saw my opportunity
i drained my drink
and told my friend
this is it
he shot me a look of terror
then said,
good luck, dude

i caught up with her on the stairs
i said hi
she said hey
i asked her if she’d liked my other
‘poem’
on the dollar bill
she laughed
sweetly
and said she did
although
it was a bit
strange
i agreed and said
i’d written her another
not so strange
she smiled
that…smile
her angelic smile
and said
don’t get me wrong
i’m flattered
but
i
have
a…
boy
friend

couldn’t breathe
sank through the stairs
and then the floor
and kept sinking lower

i mumbled
i was sorry
and didn’t mean
to waste her time

she said something else
i’ll never know
i was already
down the stairs

i didn’t see my friend
i didn’t see much of anything

i bellied up to the bar with bleeding need
the bartender failed to look my way
or accept my pleas
it was packed

i reached over the bar
and grabbed a shot glass
and a bottle of stock
Jack Daniels
i took a few shots
rapid succession

next
i felt a couple sets
of strong hands
attached to strong arms
rip me off the stool

i remember floating
over the packed floor
the Red Sea parting
and out into the street

i remember it being winter
i remember not having a coat
i remember calling the bouncers cocksuckers
and saying
how i was gonna skullfuck’em
or something eloquent
along those lines

i remember new sets of hands
attached to different arms
grabbing me from behind
and slamming me face first
onto the icy, cold, and solid pavement
i remember how tight the cuffs were
i remember howling,
weeeee haaaaa! let’s go to jail!

i remember the cops laughing and saying
we weren’t going to jail

i remember the drunk tank
i remember the internment process
i remember planning my escape
before i passed out

i remember the next day
and having to watch
Clean and Sober
with Michael Keaton
Batman
Beetlejuice or Betelgeuse
for the second time-
same place
different circumstances

i remember waiting hours to blow zeroes
i remember the cigarette lighter
that was a burner on the wall
with a button you had to press
and stick your face and cigarette
dangling from your lips
onto the glowing coil

i remember the price tag
of my night in the tank

i remember that girl’s smile
and from time to time
still look at a couch
through a pyro’s eyes

---

WHO IS CAPTAIN B?

Captain B. Seafarer. Lover of shore leave. Collector of heads. Disseminator of tales. Twitter: @NPeligeiro

Image created on Stable Diffusion

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terrible tous

misunderstood
makeshift couch
improvised fort

nearly empty bottle
sight only reaches
retrieval of another

butts snubbed out
tile floor
my floor
thank you

incense smoke
blues stomp
speakers thump

destructive
your face
constructive
my space

ah ya hoo
my battle cry

---

WHO IS CAPTAIN B?

Captain B. Seafarer. Lover of shore leave. Collector of heads. Disseminator of tales. Twitter: @NPeligeiro

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BEST OF THE NET

From the BotN website: The Best of the Net is an awards-based anthology designed to grant a platform to a diverse and growing collection of writers and publishers who are building an online literary landscape that seeks to break free of traditional publishing. This space has been created to bring greater respect to the continually expanding world of exceptional digital publishing. 

THE GORKO’S 2023 NOMINATIONS

CLICK TITLE TO READ!

POETRY

Captain B
‘Brazen’
‘Stomping puddles’

---

Bob King
‘Wanna Know How Geography’s Helped with Anxiety?’

---

Daniel Ross
‘Becoming A Woodwose In Montreal’

---

Adam Van Winkle
‘Country Music?’

---

Annabelle Williams
‘Coagulating, with Grace’

FICTION

Dia VanGunten
‘American Cheese Girl’

CREATIVE NONFICTION

Bruce Gee
‘HISTORY OF L’ETAT LAITIER -or- However You Say ‘Dairy State’ in French’

---

Will Penn
‘Slices’

ART

Laszlo Aranyi
‘Holes are the masters of form’

---

Kyle Hemmings
‘Family a tangle of pumpkin eaters & denial’

ABOUT THE ARTISTS

Captain B. Seafarer. Lover of shore leave. Collector of heads. Disseminator of tales. Twitter: @NPeligeiro

Bob King is an Associate Professor of English at Kent State University at Stark. His recent poetry has appeared in or is forthcoming from Drunk Monkeys, JAKE, Paddler Press, Aôthen Magazine, The Purposeful Mayonnaise, Spare Parts Literary Magazine, The Viridian Door, Ink Sweat & Tears, Alien Buddha Gets Rejected Anthology, Bullshit Lit, The Red Ogre Review, Unlikely Stories Mark V, The Dillydoun Review, Emergence Literary Journal, Narrative Magazine, Muleskinner, & Allium: a Journal of Poetry & Prose. He lives on the outskirts of Cleveland, Ohio, with his wife & daughters.

Daniel Ross has had fiction and poetry appear in Matrix Magazine, Misery Tourism, and Expat Press among others. He is currently working on a 5th 6th and 7th fiction manuscript and trying hard not to start any others. Twitter: @traumababyxoxo.

Adam Van Winkle was born and raised in Texoma and currently resides with his wife and two sons in South Carolina.  He is the founder and editor of Cowboy Jamboree Magazine and Press.  In addition to publishing his short fiction and creative nonfiction online and in print at places like Pithead Chapel, Cheap Pop!, BULL Magazine, The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Monkeybicycle and Red Dirt Forum, he has published several novels and plays with Red Dirt Press, Cowboy Jamboree Press, and Leftover Books. Van Winkle is named for the oldest Cartwright son on Bonanza.  Find him and his publications online at www.adamvanwinkle.com and @gritvanwinkle.

Annabelle Williams lives in Maine and enjoys the cold. She assigns sentimental value to the mundane and collects pig figurines. The Gorko Gazette was the first journal to receive a piece of her writing but she plans to submit more poetry to more magazines after graduating from undergraduate school this May. @abelle.w on instagram for snooping and / or communicating.

Dia VanGunten explores overlaps between genres, between poetry & prose, between real & magical. Her ACS piece is part of Pink Zombie Rose, a series of graphic novels about apocalyptic existential angst. @pinkzombierose

Bruce Gee Son of Bayard, middle named Bayard. Spent his life searching for the meaning of Bayard. Raised a quiver of young ‘un. No regrets.

Will Penn resides in Dublin with his 2 cats, Thelonious and Zoolah. His work has often been described as ‘unfortunately, not currently what we are looking for’ and ‘I didn’t get the bit about the trees.’ He is currently struggling with his first full body of work.

Laszlo Aranyi (Frater Azmon) poet, anarchist, occultist from Hungary. Earlier books: (szellem)válaszok, A Nap és Holderők egyensúlya . New: Kiterített rókabőr. Known spiritualist mediums, art and explores the relationship between magic. I am marginalised in my own country.

Kyle Hemmings has work published in Otoliths, Dark Entries, MacQueen’s Quinterly, and elsewhere.  He loves 60s garage bands and 50s sci-fi movies that are so bad that they’re good.

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threats and promises

i can win this fight
and move mountains
just the other side
of returning to the rhythm

you can lock up your doors
but i’ll still seek and cut and
carve out my domain

fucking around no more
got fire in one hand
an atom splitter in the other
be wary the eye that stares
and has behind it a master plan

jumping off the edge of the night
i circle about the smiling moon
as my plan unfolds
my will
soon to be known

one with a bucket
a stuck pig
a girl i’m about to swoon
speeding along
i am the night train
be there soon

like a cool rhythm
a drop of cold rain
i’ll cut the cards
and part the clouds
drop down on it
going to love it
beat it
and
motherfuck it

---

WHO IS CAPTAIN B?

Captain B. Seafarer. Lover of shore leave. Collector of heads. Disseminator of tales. Twitter: @NPeligeiro

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Continuing our DEEP DIVE into the LATEST AI CHAT BOT GPT-4’s capability of CONVINCINGLY reproducing human humor, Dr. Mitchell Kennedy has been experimenting with knock-knock jokes. Below are several examples of robots attempting to imitate man.

1.2
Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
Captain B.
Captain B who?
Captain B-ware, matey! I’m a pirate on the lookout for treasure!

COMMENT: 1.2 was in fact the best of these feeble-EVEN-FOR-ANINE-YEAR-OLD HUMAN attempts to tell a funny joke. WE TRIED TO CHANGE THE PROMPT TO WRITE DIRTY ADULT KNOCK-KNOCK JOKES ABOUT CAPTAIN B BUT WERE SHUT DOWN BY THE CODE, WHICH TOLD US ‘I’m sorry, but as an AI language model, I am not programmed to generate inappropriate or offensive content, including dirty jokes. My purpose is to assist users in a helpful and respectful manner. Can I assist you with anything else?’ I MEAN WTF MR. CHATBOT.

2.4
Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
Captain B.
Captain B who?
Captain B very quiet, he’s trying to sneak up on his arch-nemesis!

COMMENT: Sneak up on, in a ship? Does this computer have the vocabulary of a five-year-old? Or did the prompt knock-knock joke imply that the machine should level the language for kindergarteners?

3.9
Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Captain B.
Captain B who?
Captain B careful out at sea, matey!

COMMENT: CUTE, and excellent grammar.

10.1
Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Captain B.
Captain B who?
Captain B a good pirate if he wants to plunder the seven seas!

COMMENT: Grammatically questionable, but then Uncle Toby also will often stretch/mangle the English language to complete a desperate pun. forgiven, mr. chatbot!

12.3
Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
Captain B.
Captain B who?
Captain B my first mate, I’m the captain of this ship!

COMMENT: OOOOOOOPS! WATCH OUT MR. CHATBOT IF THE CAPN HEARS THIS ONE.

14.0
Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Captain B.
Captain B who?
Captain B a pirate, but I promise I won’t steal any of your jokes!

COMMENT: WAIT THE JOKES ARE YOURS, MR. CHATBOT. or are you implying that…..???

18.4
Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Captain B.
Captain B who?
Captain B a great pirate, that’s who!

CONCLUSION: SO BASICALLY EVERY ONE OF THESE JOKES IS THE SAME, PUNNING ON THE B IN CAPTAIN B TO CREATE REDUPLICATIVE SENTENCES AS THOUGH THE PHRASE WERE CAPTAIN IS. SOPHOMORIC, MR. CHAT BOT, AND FRANKLY MORE THAN A LITTLE DISAPPOINTING CONSIDERING ALL THE HYPE.

AI text actually created using chat.openai.com

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LATES X

Lates the Thrice Blessed, a mouthful no doubt. I’m more commonly known as Lates X.

My powers are similar to those of my brethren though the color of my lightsaber depends on my mood (which also makes me more effective as rogue versus sage). However, I do have the unique skill of surfing all kinds of waves: Atlantic, Pacific, solar, dark matter, gravitational, gamma-rays, x-rays (careful), ultraviolet etc. If it’s a wave, I can surf it. Both my mother and father and theirs before them lived in the way and service.

We are free of course to choose our dress. I am nearly always found in black with a wink to ninja and in homage to Johnny Cash. Few survive a round-house kick to the jaw from my knee-high black leather destroyer boots.

My native planet is known as Susyon Id. SI is what I call it. It is trillions of miles away from your Earth if, say, NASA or SpaceX were to attempt to reach it. Although they lack imagination and know next to nothing of the space-time continuum, wormholes, dimensions, frequency or parallel worlds. Through certain portals, the Milky Way’s Earth is much more easily accessed and vice versa and beyond.

Why would I, Lates X, write to you people of Earth? I write to tell you that I along with others of the force work in the shadows and in-between the rays of light that touch your planet on a mission to eradicate all demon spawn who wear the masks of men, women, and other (and keep a close eye on your children for the love of the infinite sky!) but really work to sabotage the heart and soul of your planet and all her children. Some work in administration. Some work in the post office and banks. Many take the guise of common folk. Many are very well known leaders, entertainers, pundits etc. Ain’t going to start a list that would exceed the time I have to compose this brief message. You’ve seen them. Might have even…nevermind. Their breath smells like bowel; foul lives behind false eyes.

The battle wages on. Worry not, Earth people. We are fighting on your behalf

---

WHO IS CAPTAIN B?

Captain B. Seafarer. Lover of shore leave. Collector of heads. Disseminator of tales. Twitter: @NPeligeiro

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BULL PAWED

sons a bitches
never helped ever
positive negative 69
the clock round

dime dropped
hole in pocket
pierced by
horn

break off
one last
‘graů(-ǝ)l

bird of prey
high flyer
brother went to live
upsky
highest perch

the damming
the un
dance

conclusions
never
bow
no more

a go
decision
ride

riff
carry it
off

---

WHO IS CAPTAIN B?

Captain B. Seafarer. Lover of shore leave. Collector of heads. Disseminator of tales. Twitter: @NPeligeiro

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Inanna

work vis-à-vis the work
i can’t do the first
without the second

the breeze
is now warm
smells like travel
reeks of adventure
fragrant, this in-bloom

the magnificent thunderhead
swallows the mountain
going to pour
yes, please!
plenty of wind
thunder and
lightning too

used to fear the spring
for something that lived in the basement
sinister and ghoulish
it knew
quadragesima, repent, death, resurrection
all scared the shit out of me
i no longer fear any of those
if, and only if
speaking of archetypes

my quadrangular hut
swallowed by a rotunda made of earth
right at center
i sat on an increasing number of triangles
splayed like the hand of cards i was playing

deuteronomy
a review of the text
the law
does it still stand?
i only care about the ones
natural and universal
that always remain

spring things
cleaning of house
huge
wicked
summer plans

---

WHO IS CAPTAIN B?

Captain B. Seafarer. Lover of shore leave. Collector of heads. Disseminator of tales. Twitter: @NPeligeiro

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