for writers & editors

Allen Ginsberg | Photo: Mark Weber

We are always in the process of updating our site, so please feel free to visit as often as you like. Click on any of the links to find out more about our activities, the editions and writers we represent, and how to submit your product for consideration. Within the next months we will be unvailing some great new services and programs which will offer many different products.

Thanks for visiting, and we look forward to hearing from you.

  1. Scott Utley 13.08.14 / 2am

    I never seek more than my small forum of internet friends to cocky talk my words. They let me.They are nice people. MW & this site inspired me to think of something grander. EXAMPLE:


    My name is ‘Prophet’ but they call me, ‘Hey, you!’ I am a penniless drifter shod poorly. I’m diseased & despised. I sing for a seat near the hall down the path to the shed used by swine. I’m gleeful with joy for any place to dine. Crafty by circumstance, I am blessed with a spark of divine mind. I trade hope for shelter. I barter truth for a comfortable lie. I feel privileged, indeed, honored to share my most cherished possession with whatever lurking beast or saint there may come a knocking on the door of my rice paper heart. The possession I speak of is my inner light, my love; the most powerful force in the universe. More often than not I possess neither food nor shelter but light never lets me down. My huckster mind tries to convince me otherwise, but to the joker inside my skull I say, “Shyster thoughts be damned!” Belief does not make an invidious fantasy real.

    Those evenings I am cold, angry, lonely, rejected & filled with remorse for coming to this place in the first place, are the very same evenings I forget to be grateful. On these occasions nights crawl painfully slow to that trickster I call dawn.

    What I lack in essentials I make up for in wisdom. Vagabond wisdom is priceless so I give it away for free. I must. Like my father before me I stand hunchbacked, just as his father before him. My deformed stoop is the result of incalculable weight I carry upon my shoulders.

    My mother was born & raised in New York City’s west side shanty town; Hell’s Kitchen. My father was orphaned at the age of two under crushing dank Mississippi Delta poverty which knows no equal. Perilous & foreboding omens for both of them, yet they overcame their twisted fate of birth with passion, ideals & love.

    They had to dig deep to survive. Of this I am certain. I had to dig even deeper, but I have learned to love getting my face dirty. It was either do that or die. Yet, I wonder if being born deformed & senseless is easier to bear than this weight, this soul numbing weight?

    I fear the worst should I stumble or fall. I fear for the innocents striding between land & cobalt blue seas. When I fear it is because I’ve abandoned gratitude. Sometimes my unbridled dejection paralyzes my connection to God. It is easiest then to dismiss divine light as a dreamer’s hallucinations run amok. And I do. Yes, I do. I dismiss like a diva.

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